The 71st Street Avengers
by Harkpad
Summary: For prompt: an AU in which most of the Avengers are youths in an orphanage. The 71st Street Home For Children finds Clint, Natasha, Bruce, Steve, and Thor all housed there. Tony goes to the same school the other kids do. Steve figures his group of new friends could be pretty good at fighting for each other against Loki & Barney. AU kid!Avengers, no powers
1. Chapter 1

**For this prompt at avengerkink:**  
_I'd like to see an AU in which all of the Avengers are children/youths in an orphanage. Maybe not all of them are actual orphans, maybe some have been neglected at home, ran away or something similar._

_WARNINGS: Implied child abuse, bullying, violence  
_

**A/N:**Please note that orphanages in the US actually disappeared by 1980. They just don't exist anymore, according to my scant research. Therefore I'm trying to make setting and time period a little ambiguous. Also, I find that different counties in the states have different elementary school grades and ways of doing things. The elementary school near my house goes to fifth grade; the one in my hometown goes to sixth grade. If ages and grades don't match like you think they should, it will fall into place later. Some of these kids have skipped grades, some have been held back, etc. Some places have students rotate classes and some don't. Finally, please keep in mind that every kid is different. This is also my very first attempt at a complete AU, so suggestions and polite concrit are welcome.

Thanks to dysprositos for the usual beta awesomeness.

* * *

**Clint**

Clint was sleepy. It was ten o'clock and he was sitting on the linoleum floor next to his cot with his chin resting on his knees. There were three boys in his room that were still awake, though, and so he couldn't sleep yet. Keeping his mouth shut had been hard when he and Barney had arrived seven months ago and he was _still_ paying for his mistakes. He was learning, though.

He sighed and threw his legs out in front of him and picked up the flashlight he'd stolen from a nearby corner market. It was small enough that he could hold it between his teeth and he let it shine on the pad of paper in front of him as he picked his pencil up and started drawing again. Tonight he was drawing the cliffs of Dover. He'd heard about them at school today and they sounded cool. He wondered what it would be like to dive off of them. Probably not smart.

He wasn't that smart, though, he knew. Barney told him all the time, his dad had told him all the time, and his mom had never corrected him. They'd all know better than him. But he was learning. He was learning how to keep the jerks from tying him to his bed while he slept (sleep in sweatshirts and long underwear instead of under sheets), he was learning how to keep them from stealing his meager belongings (he found a hidey hole on the first floor of an abandoned building near the orphanage), and seven months in he was even learning how to make friends.

He didn't worry about friends, usually. He knew that keeping to himself and keeping out of the way was easier if he didn't talk to too many people, but he'd made a friend today without thinking, and it felt kind of good. He wondered for a moment whether his new friend was having any trouble sleeping. He'd ask in the morning. Clint had forgotten to warn him about getting tied to your bed or beaten up after lights out, but the kid seemed smarter than him and probably already knew.

Finally, the three older boys who Clint was waiting on went to sleep. Clint tucked his flashlight, pad of paper, and pen under his mattress and fell asleep sometime around eleven thirty. Not his worst night.

The next day he woke to the shrill sound of the morning alarm being blared over the PA system and he rolled out of bed quickly, not wanting to get caught off guard. He stripped two of the bulky sweatshirts off and gathered his things for the bathroom. As he stood in line for the bathroom (there were only five stalls for about thirty boys), he realized his first mistake of the day.

He'd forgotten to put his socks and shoes on and one of the older boys who were constantly trying to get into Barney's good graces saw. He was in line in front of Clint and he turned with a leer and stomped on Clint's right foot, hard. Clint could usually duck away from a blow like that, but he was still sluggish from sleep, and pain spiked through his foot and up his leg.

"Shit!" he yelled, hopping up and down on one foot, and that was his second mistake of the day.

"Barton!" hollered the 'floor parent' who was monitoring the bathroom crowd that morning. He was a tall man with bright red hair and with a deep voice and a missing front tooth to add to his menace.

Clint sighed and limped out of line, ignoring the snickers of the other boys. "Yes, sir?" he asked, mustering as much respect as he could this early in the day.

The man reached into his pocket and pulled out a pad of paper and pen, scribbled something and tore half of it off and handed it to Clint. "Ten demerits for bad language, Barton. Clean it up."

Clint took the paper and said, "Okay, sir. Sorry," and then he got at the end of the line, waiting again. He yawned and then felt an elbow nudge him in the side.

"That stinks, Clint," said the friend Clint made yesterday, Bruce. He was looking pretty disheveled, too. His hair was long and curly and looked a little mad-scientist this morning, like a picture Clint had once seen. He was only a little taller than Clint, but then again all the boys his own age were a little taller than him. He had kind brown eyes, though, and a smile that showed up quick and left even quicker. Right now he was glaring at the boy who had stomped on Clint's foot.

Clint shrugged. "Yeah. Not the best start to the day, but I got off easy last night, so I guess it all evens out, huh?"

"What do you mean you got off easy?" Bruce asked, shifting his bag with his bathroom supplies to his other hand and turning to face Clint while they waited their turn.

"Sometimes I have trouble with the older boys after lights out is all," Clint said, figuring his earlier guess that Bruce was too smart to get into much trouble was clearly true.

"Why?" Bruce asked with a curious look on his face.

"Because they're assho—jerks," he replied vehemently, correcting himself with an eye roll. His folks had sworn like sailors and seven months here wasn't long enough for Clint to have wiped that away no matter how many demerits he kept getting for it.

Bruce just nodded and the boys waited patiently for their turn in the bathroom. They saw each other again at breakfast, and Clint managed to save seat for him in the crowded dining hall. There were metal tables and folding chairs placed throughout the room, and the floor was pale yellow linoleum covered in scuff marks and rips. Clint always tried to sit with his back to the wall so no one could tip his chair, but he decided to let his new friend have the good spot today.

Bruce joined him and smiled quickly again. "Thanks," he said as he sat down with his tray of toast and jelly and a banana and orange juice.

Clint shrugged. "Sure. How was your first night?" he asked, and he watched as Bruce just chewed his toast and considered his answer.

"It was okay. No one bothered me, so I guess that's good."

Clint decided then that he liked Bruce, because it was clear from the dark circles under his eyes and his reddish cheekbone from rubbing tears away that he hadn't had a good night, but he wasn't going to complain about it. Anyone who can learn that quickly not to complain at the orphanage was okay in Clint's book.

Suddenly one of the boys from his room snuck past and tipped Clint's chair as he was taking a drink of orange juice and Clint toppled over, spilling all over his shirt. He held his temper, though, watching the tall blonde boy who was laughing as he walked away, knowing that if he got any more demerits he would go from the easy punishment of cleaning the floors of the bedrooms to the more annoying cleaning of the bathroom floors.

Bruce helped him up and glared at the boy who was walking way, and Clint did his best to dry off his shirt. Laundry day wasn't for two days and this was his last shirt thanks to an incident where showing off landed him in the mud at the playground yesterday. He held his temper, though, and his new friend just watched him as he finished his breakfast quietly.

When the boys were finished, they pulled on their charity-issued blue nylon jackets and their plain red backpacks and left for school.

**Bruce**

Bruce appreciated the boy walking next to him, he really did. He was older than Bruce by a grade or two, probably in fifth or sixth grade, but he was small for his age and barely reached Bruce's nose. His jeans had a hole in one knee and Bruce guessed he didn't have much in the way of clothes since he didn't change after spilling orange juice all over himself. He was nice enough, though, and he'd shared comic books with Bruce yesterday when they met, which was helpful.

Anything that could keep his thoughts from straying back to the scene at his house four days ago was good for him right now.

When the people from the police station told him he was going to have to go to the orphanage for a while, he got scared about what he might find. He didn't know anything about orphanages. He and his family had actually been fairly well-off, despite his father's craziness and anger issues. They'd been living in a college town on the outskirts of the city and his father was a scientist before he snapped last week.

Bruce was also going to have to switch schools as a result of all of this, which made him mad because he and his own science teacher got along really well. The guy had even tried to help Bruce by inventing projects for him to stay after school for whenever he could. The school he was switching to didn't sound too bad, but he was a little worried about the orphanage.

The 71st Street Home for Children was no better or worse than he expected. When he arrived in the afternoon it looked kind of pretty from the outside. It had well-kept grounds, a small front lawn wrapped by a black wrought iron fence and clean, old-looking brick walls with black trim. The front steps were whitewashed and had potted plants lining them, and the door was a deep mahogany with black handles. The place reminded Bruce of something out of a mystery novel, really. He half expected a butler to answer the door.

No one did, though, and the police officer accompanying him just led him right inside to the foyer. The marble floor had recently been scrubbed, and the double staircase that wound up to the second floor was a clean hardwood. The office he was led to was neat and orderly, and the blonde woman who stood when he entered was dressed in a pretty green pencil skirt and gold blouse. The police officer set down the one suitcase Bruce had been allowed to bring (he'd shoved a week's worth of clothes, a picture of his mother, and then as many of his favorite books he could fit inside) down next to the door. After saying good afternoon to the woman and good luck to Bruce, he departed.

"You're Bruce Banner?" the woman asked, gesturing for Bruce to sit down in a chair in front of the desk where she sat back down.

"Yes, ma'am," he replied sullenly, trying not to look at the floor.

"You're nine years old? In fifth grade?"

"Yes ma'am." He didn't offer any explanation of why he was in fifth instead of fourth, hating to sound like a showoff.

She looked up at him and he met her eyes. "I'm sorry about your parents," she said gently.

He just nodded.

She told him some rules (boys on one floor girls on the other and never the twain shall meet except in the dining area and rec room sort of thing) and then showed him his room. She said he could keep his things under his cot and that the morning wake-up came at seven am sharp every week day, nine on weekends. It was past dinner time and the cop had bought him a hamburger on the way, so after she said good night he just curled up on his cot with a book and used the picture of his mother as a bookmark.

After a while, though, his curiosity got the better of him and he found his way to the boy's den on their floor. There were four bedrooms with eight to ten boys in each and there was a den at one end of the wood-floored hallway. When he entered the den there were about fifteen boys there of varying ages, the oldest looking about fifteen and the youngest looking about six. Some were playing checkers or Monopoly – the room had two long metal tables for games, and two couches and a few tattered armchairs. It was lit with a few lamps, giving it a warm tone, and Bruce found a chair to sit in and watch the room.

In the chair next to him was a blue-eyed boy with messy, dirty blond hair. He was reading a comic book and had another one sitting on his lap. It was a Fantastic Four comic and Bruce had a few of those tucked into his suitcase down the hall. He slipped down the hall and grabbed a couple and hurried back to the den. The boy was still there reading. Bruce sat back down and then cleared his throat.

When the other boy didn't look up, Bruce cleared his throat again, more loudly. This still garnered no response, and Bruce was starting to feel embarrassed. So he said quietly, "Hey."

The other boy's head snapped up abruptly. He quickly let his eyes run over Bruce before he said, "Hey."

"Do you mind if I look at that issue of The Fantastic Four?" Bruce asked quickly. "I haven't seen it. You can see these two if you want," he added, holding up the books he'd brought from his stash.

The boy's eyes lit up and he grinned. "Sure! I missed that one," he said, pointing at one of Bruce's books. "Can I look at it?"

"Yeah," Bruce said, and traded books with the boy. "I'm Bruce, by the way," he added, after an uncomfortable beat of silence.

The boy shifted his weight in his seat and nodded. "I'm Clint," he replied. "Thanks for letting me look at this."

Just as he said that an older boy, also blond and blue-eyed, walked behind Clint and slapped him, knocking his head forward. "You're a dick, Clint," he said with a dark laugh and then left the room. Clint glared after him, his kind eyes hardening quickly.

"Who's that?" Bruce asked, hoping trouble wasn't too easy to come by around here.

"My asshole brother, Barney," Clint said. After a pause he cryptically added, "Stay out of his way."

Bruce just nodded and the boys settled in with their comic books. They didn't talk much, and after a brief discussion of the merits of the new artist for the comic book, they said good night and went to bed.

Bruce didn't sleep much.

Now he was headed to a new school with a new friend, and he was starting his life over again.

**Natasha**

She watched the new boy and Clint Barton as they walked in front of her to school. She had seen the new boy yesterday when he checked in; she always found a way to be in the foyer when new kids were coming in. He looked nice, but she knew better than to trust that. Clint's brother had looked nice enough, too, but she knew he beat Clint up regularly and bullied the other kids. He'd tried to bully her early on, but she kicked him in the balls and glared at him as he squirmed in the dust of the lawn behind the orphanage and he'd left her alone since then.

Clint, though, she didn't know. He kept to himself, and it seemed like whenever she noticed him it was because he was getting in trouble, either with the adults at the orphanage or with the older boys who seemed to take great delight in messing with him. Clint didn't have any friends, it seemed, and he stayed hidden a lot.

This made her opinion of the new boy a different one than usual because he managed to befriend Clint in one day when seven months hadn't garnered Clint anyone except enemies. She'd have to keep an eye on Bruce Banner.

She was walking fifty yards or so behind them on the way to school and she was hoping she'd get an answer to a question she'd had for about a month. She was walking behind Clint Barton one day on the way to school and she had turned the corner and he was gone. She looked all over the street but couldn't see him and then she didn't see him again until homeroom that day. She did it again the next day and the same thing happened. He slipped her gaze every single day for a month, and that pissed her off. She wanted to know what he did when he disappeared, and she wanted to know how he disappeared.

The other odd thing was that his backpack always seemed to be nearly empty when he left the orphanage, but then he had everything he needed when he was at school. There was a puzzle here, and she hated puzzles.

So today she watched carefully and was rewarded. Apparently Clint didn't want to just disappear on his new friend, so both boys stopped when they rounded the corner from the orphanage. She could see Clint gesturing to Bruce, instructing him to stay there for a minute. Then he slipped down the nearby alleyway, something he usually did too quickly for her to catch. Today, though, she was able to sneak past Banner and follow Clint.

He hugged the wall of the alleyway and came to the next corner, which was an old, abandoned warehouse. She saw him slip in through a broken window and she approached, peering in through the splintered glass. He was kneeling in the far corner, where a pile of rubble and an old, antique desk sat—a perfect hiding spot. She watched as he pulled his notebook, a pencil case, and what looked to be a diary or some kind of book and slipped them into his backpack. He pulled a baseball hat out and put it on, and he also put on a checkered red scarf. When he was zipping his backpack she slipped away, her question sadly answered.

She might be ten years old, but she knew about protecting things from idiots who would take them like they meant nothing.

That day at school, when she saw Clint and Bruce sitting at the lunch table together, she walked over and gestured to an empty seat nearby.

"Can I sit with you guys today?" she asked curtly.

Clint looked at her wide-eyed, and Bruce noticed.

"Uh, yeah? Sure, I mean, if you want," Bruce said, waving his hand in front of Clint's face. "Hey, Barton, what gives?"

Clint shook his head and offered a weak smile. "Oh, sorry. It's just. Um. Yeah, sure, sit down," he stumbled. "I'm Clint Barton," he added.

Bruce chimed in quietly, "Bruce Banner."

She leaned over and pulled her orphanage-issued lunch out and said, "Natasha."

"You live at 71st Street, too?" Bruce asked, taking a bite of his sandwich.

She nodded.

"Hey, how long have you lived there?" Clint asked. "You scared the shit out of my brother a while back so I knew you were cool, but how long have you been there?"

She shrugged. "Most of my life. I don't remember anywhere else."

Bruce and Clint both paused in their chewing and then went on after a moment, clearly understanding the look on her face that said, "I will use this plastic knife on you to whatever ends I can if you ask anything more." She smiled inwardly at their intelligence.

"What do you think of the school so far?" Clint asked Bruce.

"It's okay," he replied. "At my old school we got to switch teachers a couple times and here we're stuck with the same one all day, so that's going to be weird."

"You didn't get stuck with Ms. Alton did you?" Clint asked around a bit of apple. "She's a witch."

Natasha had to agree with that. "How do you know? You weren't here in fourth grade," She asked.

Clint grinned sheepishly. "Hellooo, playground duty? She won't let me do _anything_. And she doesn't just bitch at me, either. She hands detentions out like they're candy."

"I've seen you, though," Natasha said. "You climb on places you're not meant to climb on the playground. I saw you get on the roof one day." She paused. "I didn't tell anyone, though."

He nodded gratefully. "Thanks."

Bruce waited for a lull in the conversation before he answered Clint's earlier question. "No, I don't have Alton. I have – Fisher. She seems okay."

"She doesn't care what I do at recess," Clint said. "She's cool."

"She likes Mr. Coulson," Natasha said, leaning over the table to share the news.

"Yeah?" Clint said. "How do you know?"

"Who's Mr. Coulson?" Bruce said at the same time.

"Fifth grade history teacher – that's when you start switching teachers around here, by the way," Natasha said, and then she looked at Clint. "I know because I figured out if you move one of the hand dryers in the girls' bathroom you get a view of the teachers' lounge, and she eats lunch there every day. And she's not very subtle."

"He's my history teacher," Clint said thoughtfully, leaning back in his chair. "He's too smart for her."

Natasha shrugged. "She likes him anyway."

They spent the rest of lunch trying to pair up teachers and figure out as many routes to get to the roof as they could. Natasha actually enjoyed lunch that day. She liked school, liked learning, but growing up in an orphanage actually made her kind of crap at social skills. She knew how to be polite to adults- they made sure of that-but she was never very good at making friends with the other girls. Their interests were boring and she preferred sneaking out of the orphanage grounds and wandering the few blocks around it on her own.

These two boys seemed interesting, though.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thanks again to dysprositos for fantastic beta help! This one is proving hard to wrangle and I couldn't do it by myself. Thanks for reading, too!  
**

* * *

**Tony**

The new kid in science class seemed cool. Well, he seemed like a bit of a dork, but he seemed smart. Tony saw him frown when he read the assignment notes for the project the class was working on, and that was a good sign. If he could see how stupid the teacher was then he was smart enough for Tony. He also liked the fact that the kid – Bruce, according to the teacher - came in for the class from a different grade, too. Tony was supposed to be in third grade, not seventh; he wondered what grade Bruce was supposed to be in.

He also wondered if he liked comic books. Seventh graders all seemed too cool for comic books, and Tony was in all seventh grade classes. He couldn't stand most of the people there. Maybe a younger kid like him would be into it. So he sauntered up to the kid and said, "You wanna be lab partners? The teacher makes us have partners."

"Why? I can do this project by myself," Bruce asked, hardly even looking up at Tony.

"I could do it in my sleep, but he makes us have partners," Tony replied, fidgeting with the hem of his t-shirt.

Bruce looked up and Tony knew he was just now taking Tony in, noticing his size.

"Um," Bruce said, "I guess. I mean, if we have to."

"Gee, thanks," Tony replied. "Nice to meet you, too." He collapsed dramatically into the empty chair next to Bruce at the black-topped lab table.

Bruce sat up straighter and said, "Oh, sorry. I'm Bruce Banner. Who are you?"

"Tony Stark," Tony answered, holding out his hand to shake. Bruce looked at it warily and then shook it. "What grade are you in, anyway?" Tony asked.

Bruce shrugged and said, "Fifth." He paused and then added, "I'm supposed to be in fourth."

"I'm supposed to be in third grade," Tony said, and Bruce looked surprised.

"You come here from third grade?" Bruce said.

"No, I'm supposed to be in third grade. I'm _in_ seventh. For now," Tony said.

Bruce looked at him like he was lying. "For now?"

Tony sighed. "Yeah, I did fifth and sixth last year in one year, so I'm hoping that by Christmas they let me move up again. My dad says I should go to college by the time I'm a teenager."

Bruce narrowed his eyes and cocked his head at Tony. "Why?"

Tony wasn't sure how to answer that right away – no one ever asked that, and he never thought to ask either. But then he said, "Because maybe then I can do lab experiments without a partner all the time?" and he grinned.

Bruce smiled and looked back at the assignment sheet. "Okay."

Tony scooted his chair closer to Bruce. "Let's figure out how we can jazz up the experiment first, and then we'll divvy up duties, okay?"

"Jazz it up?" Bruce asked, hesitant.

"Yeah," Tony said, unsure of why Bruce hadn't thought of that already. "If I can make it show something extra and I don't start a fire, Mr. Andrews doesn't usually dock my grade."

"You sometimes start a fire?" Bruce said nervously looking around the room.

"Only once this year," Tony said cheerfully. "It's not a big deal. Come on." And the boys settled in to work on 'jazzing up' the assignment.

Tony met Bruce on a Tuesday, and by Friday he had a plan. Having a younger kid like him in class was really fun, and when he finally got Bruce to talk to him, it did turn out he liked comic books, _and_ he seemed awfully interested in the chemistry set Tony told him his parents had bought him recently. He also _actually helped_ Tony with the lab, including a brilliant suggestion to turn the final product purple, which made Mr. Andrews turn at least one shade of red darker than normal, which was funny.

He brought his plan up as he and Bruce were putting the finishing touches on their lab report. "So," he said, "You wanna come over to my house tomorrow and play? Think your parents will let you?"

Bruce looked at him surprised and then laid his pen down on the table, crossing his arms over his chest. "Um, I don't think I can," he said quietly.

"Why not? My parents don't care. They'll just be happy I'm not bugging them. I can show you my chemistry set. Are your parents jerks about that kind of thing?" Tony said all in one breath.

Bruce shook his head and sighed. "My parents are dead. I live at the orphanage around the corner and I don't know how if I'm allowed to go anywhere."

Tony put his own pen down, suddenly feeling stupid. "Oh," is all he managed right away. After a minute, though, he said, "But they must let you guys do stuff. They don't make you stay there all weekend, do they?" He wasn't going to let this small setback stop him from hanging out with a genius fifth grader.

"I don't know. I guess I could ask," Bruce said. "I can ask Clint after school if you can wait around a bit."

"Clint? Oh, is he another kid from the orphanage? That's cool."

"Clint Barton, do you know him?" Bruce asked.

Tony thought for a minute. "No. I've heard of a Barney Barton, though."

"That's his brother. He's a jerk."

"Yeah, I actually heard that Barney Barton has a gang. He's an eighth grader," Tony said. He didn't know a lot about the kids who lived at the orphanage, but he'd heard of Barney. "So you can ask Clint?"

"Yeah, I will. Meet me at the flag pole after school, okay?"

"The orphanage is just a block or two away, right?" Tony asked, thinking about after school.

"Yeah," Bruce replied.

"How about I walk with you guys there and I'll just have my ride pick me up after. I can sneak into the office later and call him." He thought it would probably annoy Happy, but he liked annoying Happy, so this was a bonus. It's not like he wouldn't come pick him up.

Bruce shrugged. "Okay," he said, and they finished their report.

After Tony snuck his phone call (and did annoy Happy) and school ended, he met Bruce at the flag pole. There was a smaller boy standing next to him wearing a blue baseball hat and a scowl. He looked at Tony warily and Tony immediately saw the resemblance to the older Barton.

"Hey, Bruce!" Tony called, slinging his back pack over his shoulder.

Bruce waved and said, "Hey, this is Clint."

Tony reached his hand out. "I'm Tony Stark." His parents made him introduce himself to other snooty grownups all the time, so it was habit. Clint, though, just looked at his hand and nodded a fraction.

"Clint," is all he said.

Tony pulled his hand back and adjusted his backpack. "So what's the word, Banner? Are you guys allowed to go places on the weekend?"

Bruce looked at Clint and said, "I didn't know the rules. I wondered if you knew."

Clint looked at Tony again. "We have to get permission a week ahead of time, I think. They told me about it once, but it hasn't come up. I think it's a week, though, and your parents have to write a note asking him over," he said to Tony.

"Ugh," Tony groaned. "That stinks." The boys started walking toward the orphanage and a red headed girl came up behind them.

"Who's the stray dog?" she asked, nudging Clint's shoulder, who laughed.

Tony glared at her. She was taller than him – most of the girls were – and she hadn't even said hello. She was rude. But Tony never let that get him down. "I'm Tony Stark," he said confidently.

"Friend of Bruce's," Clint added.

Tony watched as she didn't even introduce herself but pulled Clint ahead of them and talked conspiratorially with him.

"Friend of yours?" he asked Bruce, who smiled.

"That's Natasha. She lives at 71st too."

They walked the two blocks to the orphanage and were almost there when four taller boys stepped out of a nearby alley. He watched as the boys surrounded Clint and Natasha.

This Friday was way more interesting than last Friday.

**Steve**

Steve was walking back to the orphanage from school, feeling angry. He had a ton of homework from his new teachers, he had just moved here two days ago, and the orphanage was just as bad as he'd been afraid it would be when the social worker told him he'd have to live there.

It was crowded, and even though it looked nice on the outside, once you got past the foyer it was a run-down place full of angry kids. It was a good thing he was tall for his age or he'd probably have lost at least his Dodgers hat, maybe more. He'd watched a couple of older kids shove a younger one around and steal his notepad the night before.

The kid had been angry, but he was short and outnumbered, so they took his pad of paper and all Steve could do was listen to the littler kid cuss them out. He didn't want to get in trouble his second night, so he didn't get involved, but he watched the kid carefully that night and noticed how he stayed awake until he thought everyone else was asleep.

Now it was Friday and Steve wasn't looking forward to the free time of the weekend, where he'd be unable to keep away the thoughts of his mother and her almost-transparent skin and mottled face as she suffered the last few days of the illness that claimed her just last week. He would be forced to think about how he'd been shuffled what felt like was across the city, although it really wasn't, and how managing to see Bucky was going to be practically impossible, at least for a while until Steve settled in at the orphanage and learned the rules and how to break them. He was mad at the world right now, hoping only to get back to his cot and draw for a while to settle down.

The kid from his room and a few friends were walking a couple hundred yards ahead of him, though, and Steve stopped walking as he watched a group of four other kids from the orphanage stop the kids in the street. The boy who'd had his notebook stolen was with a girl, and they were the ones who were surrounded, the other two boys just standing out of the way. Steve moved closer so he could hear what was going on. He didn't like the looks of this.

"Your brother told us to prep you for the weekend, Clint," one of the bigger boys, who had a strange accent, sneered, and he shoved the smaller boy, clearly called Clint, to the ground with a hard push. Steve watched as the girl with him threw an elbow into the boy standing near her, and he doubled over with a grunt, but another boy grabbed her and pinned her arms.

"Come on, Clint, let's let your new friends watch, okay? They'll figure out how stupid and useless you are early and won't waste their time," said the boy who had shoved him. He had longish dark hair and piercing green eyes, and he grabbed Clint by the jacket collar and dragged him into the nearby alley where he proceeded to sidestep a weak punch Clint tried to throw and clocked Clint in the eye, sending him to his knees.

Steve had enough. He might be new, but this was off-grounds and this was more than just stealing a notebook.

He approached the group of kids, elbowing past Clint's other friends, saying, "You two just gonna stand there and watch him get beat up? Jeez!"

The boy with the fancy backpack threw up his arms and said, "Hello? Third grader here. Not sure what you want me to do; those kids are like, twice my size!"

The other boy, the one with the bushy brown hair, looked livid, though, and growled, "I don't want to make it worse for him."

At that point, there was a yell from the alley as the older boy kicked Clint in the ribs when he was down and Clint fell all the way to the street, doubled up and groaning.

Steve looked at the smaller boys and shook his head and he waded into the alley, shoving one of the boys against a wall, hard. The one holding the girl had to struggle to hold her down, so Steve went straight for the leader, who had just stomped Clint's hand into the pavement with a leer. He looked up at Steve, who was a head taller than him, and paled a little.

Steve had hit his big growth spurt just last summer and had finally outgrown his scrawny youth, now almost hitting six feet tall at thirteen. He grinned at the older boy and said, "Leave him alone."

The kid stood straighter, leaving Clint to crawl away and lean against the wall of the alley, breathing hard. Steve glanced at him and then winked, and then it only took three punches before the older kid was on his knees, blood streaming from his nose. His buddies took one glance at Steve and took off running, and after Steve added a kick in the side to the kid with the bloody nose he scrambled to his feet and disappeared, too.

Steve turned and saw the girl and the bushy-haired kid trying to help Clint to his feet. Clint had a black eye and was holding his hand with his other one, close to his body. It was already swelling up.

"You gonna be okay?" Steve asked, gently, brushing his hair out of his face as he stepped over to get a closer look at the kid.

Clint just nodded.

"I'm Steve Rogers," Steve said, looking at the other kids. The girl looked younger than him but older than the boys, and she looked mad.

"I'm Natasha," she said. "That was good fighting."

"Thanks. It looked like you guys could use some help." He looked at the other boys expectantly.

"I'm Bruce," the taller one said, and he held out his hand to shake with Steve.

"Tony Stark," the other one said, and he gave a small wave.

"Who's not in third grade," Bruce said, giving Tony a small shove.

"Well, for the purposes of a fist fight I'll claim the grade I'm _supposed_ to be in," Tony replied with a grin. "Sorry we didn't help you, Clint," he added sheepishly. "They were a lot bigger than us."

"Bigger assholes," Bruce said vehemently. "Hey, is your hand okay?" he said, turning to Clint.

"Hurts like hell," Clint said, stepping away from the wall. He looked up at Steve. "Thanks. You stay in the same room I do, huh? Just got here?"

Steve nodded. "Yeah. Not the best way to start out, right?"

Clint shrugged and said, "Looks like you can fight. That's good."

Bruce looked at him oddly. "I just got here last week."

"I," Tony said dramatically, "Don't live there. And my ride is going to be mad that I'm late. Come on." And he left the alleyway, heading for the orphanage.

**Thor**

Thor looked up from his homework and saw his brother storm into the room. He was bleeding from his nose and had clearly been in another fight. Thor sighed. Being from another country and having names like' Loki' and 'Thor' hadn't made the transition to the orphanage easy on either of them, and Loki didn't have Thor's intimidating size to help him out, so he fell into a bad crowd pretty quickly.

"Did you lose a fight, brother?" Thor asked, standing.

"I got interrupted," Loki corrected with a glare.

Thor sighed and threw the Kleenex box that had been sitting on the den coffee table over to him.

"You shouldn't fight with the others," Thor said, tired of having this talk. But Thor was older, and bigger, and felt like he should admonish his brother. Their father had taught them to avoid fighting if they could, but Loki seemed to go looking for them.

"Then they shouldn't be defiant morons who won't accept their place," Loki replied with a sneer.

That told Thor who he'd been fighting.

Clint Barton was the little brother of Barney, and he refused to join his brother's gang, refused to help his brother in his inane plans and petty theft, and refused to help keep the authorities away when he knew Barney was up to something. He was also a little brat, really, Thor thought, but at least he stood his ground. Barney had been punishing him since they'd arrived at the orphanage, and he managed to corral Loki and the other kids into helping.

Thor didn't help, but he didn't get involved, either, not any more. When they first arrived, Loki had seen that Barney was the toughest kid and aligned himself with him right away, agreeing to help him steal things, setting up other kids for fights, that sort of thing. Thor had joined them because he didn't know what else to do. But when he realized how much they were hurting the other kids, and how much trouble they could get into, he stopped helping.

He was big enough that they didn't bother him after.

He just wanted to bide his time until their parents came back for them like they _promised_. It had been six months, and he and Loki had adapted to the new country, to the new school, and to the often-baffling ways of the orphanage. Loki was even pretending to take orders from Barney Barton for who knew what purpose. Now Thor was in eighth grade and just wanted to keep his nose clean until his parents got back.

Loki didn't seem to have such patience.

"It appears that he got the better of you this time," Thor said to Loki, who shrugged.

"He had help."

That surprised Thor. Clint hadn't seemed to make any friends in the six months he and his brother had been at the orphanage. He was always hiding or making himself small to stay out of people's way. Thor had even tried to help him with his homework once and the kid very quietly told him to 'fuck off,' and even being fairly new to the idioms of English, Thor understood harsh defiance when he heard it. He hadn't offered to help since.

"Who helped him?" Thor asked.

"The new kid. That really tall one that came in a couple days ago. He knows how to throw a punch."

_So Clint has help now_, Thor thought to himself. Even more reason for Thor to stay clear of all of this. He had his own friends at school. He didn't need to get involved in his brother's drama.

But later that night he saw Clint Barton with a bandage on his hand and a black eye, trying to eat his dinner with a couple other kids, including the new, tall blond kid. Thor decided to try again.

He approached the younger Barton and stopped near their table. "Are you all right, Clint?" he asked. "I know my brother did this to you and I'm sorry. He is a –" he searched for the right term and found "nail for trouble." The puzzled look on the faces around the table told him he'd missed again, despite years of English lessons at home, but Barton seemed to have gotten the idea.

"Yeah, that's not your fault. My brother's an asshole, and it's not my fault, either. But thanks, I'll be okay."

"Loki broke two of his fingers," the red headed girl sitting next to Clint said darkly.

Thor sighed. "I'm sorry. I have spoken with him but he doesn't listen."

"Can't pick our family," another boy said with a quick smile.

Thor nodded, "Indeed."

"Do you want to sit?" the tall blond boy said, gesturing to a chair.

Thor looked to Clint, for some reason feeling like he needed his permission. Clint shrugged, so Thor sat down. They all introduced each other and then Steve and Clint picked up a discussion of baseball and Bruce and Natasha asked Thor some questions about his home country, which led him to tell some stories from his father's family (with Bruce occasionally helping him out with words he missed) and he had them all laughing by the end.

It was a better start to the weekend for all of them than they'd imagined.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thanks for the kind response to this little story! Thanks, again and again, to dysprositos for fantastic beta help! I hope you like this - it's quite new for me, so polite concrit is welcome!  
**

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Clint woke up sore Saturday morning, and a little bit afraid. He'd managed to avoid seeing Barney the previous night, spending most of it in a strange spot: surrounded by other kids. He liked it all right, although by the time lights-out came around he was exhausted, and not just from getting beat up that afternoon. He had eaten breakfast with Bruce, lunch with Bruce and Natasha, and dinner with those two and two other guys-Steve, who had cleaned up his fight for him and Thor, an older kid who weirdly apologized for his brother kicking Clint's ass. It was a strange day and it wore Clint out.

He slept all the way until the nine o'clock weekend wake up alarm, and rolled off his cot clutching his side, where Loki (what a dumb name that guy had, even if he was from overseas) had kicked him a couple times the day before. He groaned as he pulled on his cheap canvas tennis shoes, knowing that mopping floors working off the twenty demerits he'd earned this week was gonna suck. He brushed his teeth and reported to Mr. Merritt, the grumpy hall parent in charge of overseeing the boys who earned demerits that week. He wanted to get his done as quickly as he could so he could find a place to hide from Barney for the day.

He usually carted his drawing notebook and his comic books for the week outside and found a spot to hole up in until lunch on days he needed to avoid Barney, which was most days. When Barney sent someone to beat him up like he had yesterday he especially had to hide. Barney usually tried to dig Clint out from wherever he was hiding and make sure he was feeling crappy and remind him why he set his minions on him ('you were a little shit this week,' or 'you didn't say hi to me this morning', or 'you hid your comic books from me this week,' or 'do you have any idea how dumb you are?') and try to get a few blows of his own in for good measure. The trick was, Clint had learned, that if he could avoid Barney for the morning, then Barney usually got bored with the effort and disappeared for the afternoon with his friends and Clint was safe for the day.

Today, though, was different.

He did get his demerits worked off by ten, managed to grab a bagel from the kitchen after he was finished, and gathered his stuff to go retreat from Barney. He even had an idea of where to go today that Barney didn't know about. But as he was sliding down the front steps of the orphanage, Bruce and Natasha pounced on him.

"Hey," Natasha said, brushing her hair back and putting it in a pony tail as she spoke. "Where are you going?"

Clint looked warily between her and Bruce. "Um, I'm not sure," he said. "Why?"

Bruce was wearing jeans, Nike tennis shoes, and his nylon jacket over a beige sweatshirt and his hair was still tousled. He hopped a couple steps down and looked up at Clint. "Come to the park with us. Tony's meeting us there."

Clint hesitated. The park wasn't somewhere he liked to go on Saturday mornings, even though it was one of only about five places the orphans were allowed to go on their own. It was there, the public library two blocks away, and a couple of the stores in between. Once they were eight, they got a very small allowance, just enough for Clint to keep himself up to date on one comic book run and get a soda or a couple new pencils each week, and the stores along the way were pretty good for the kids. One or two of the owners were especially cool and might throw a pack of gum in with the kids' purchase once in a while. But the park on a Saturday was to be avoided.

"It's too crowded over there," he protested.

"Yeah, but Tony's meeting us there and he said he'd bring a bunch of stuff to play with. He said he has some cool things to show us," Bruce said. He added, "Since we're not allowed to go over to his house."

Clint really wasn't sure. "Yeah, and Tony's a third grader who's in seventh grade. He'll probably bring an erector set and a math activity book to play with. Come on," he said sarcastically.

"You're a sixth grader who's supposed to be in seventh grade," Natasha retaliated. "Maybe you could learn something."

Clint stopped on the steps for a moment and then flipped her off. "Fuck you," he said darkly, and walked away, zipping his books inside his jacket. He heard Bruce say, "That was pretty mean, Natasha," as he left.

He heard Natasha yell, "Come on, Clint. It doesn't matter! Stark's rich, he'll have cool stuff!" But he ignored her and ducked down a side street and scrambled up one of his favorite trees where they couldn't see him.

He found a good branch and took a few deep breaths, shaking out his injured hand after ignoring it on the climb. He wasn't sure how she knew he'd been held back, but she didn't have to bring it up. He didn't need reminding, and that wasn't why he didn't want to see what Stark had to share. He was just tired and not used to people asking him to do stuff.

If she'd just ignored his own comment, he probably would have decided to come with them. He just needed more time to consider. But no, she had to make him feel stupid. He didn't need one more person to do that. Barney and his teachers did enough of that for him (except Mr. Coulson, who'd even noticed Clint was missing his drawing notebook yesterday and gave him a new one from his class supply closet).

He pulled his new notebook out and began to draw furiously with his good hand, grateful again for solid ambidexterity. The picture that appeared on the page was dark, shaded black with harsh scratches, and it was a face that usually appeared on the page when he was mad. He looked a lot like his father, people had said, but Clint hoped his eyes weren't as dark, as shadowed, as mean as his memory made them on the page. After a few minutes he did what he usually did after he drew his father – he ripped the paper out and tore it into little pieces, letting them flutter to the concrete sidewalk below.

He watched the picture fall in shreds to the ground and then took a deep breath, adjusted his pencil in his hand again, and started to draw those cliffs again. He liked the way his mind's eye made them look, all sheer and clean-looking and powerful, like a wall that could _never_ be torn down.

Bruce stared at Natasha on the steps as Clint stalked off down the street and shook his head. "Why would you say that to him?"

She looked back at him like he was stupid. "What? It's just the truth. He _did_ get held back. He _could_ learn something. Besides, all he ever does is hide, and what good does that do him?"

Bruce looked at her and then looked down the street.

"Come on," Natasha said, jumping off the top step to the sidewalk below and heading toward the park, her ponytail bobbing. "He knows where we're going. He can come find us if he wants to."

Bruce hesitated. But he wasn't sure how to help Clint, and he_ did_ really want to play with Tony, so he hopped off the top step down to the sidewalk (much less gracefully than Natasha had done) and followed her down the street.

The park was crowded, like Clint had said, but Bruce saw Tony and a grownup carting a box full of something to an open space on the lawn and when he saw Bruce and Natasha he gave a hearty wave. Tony was wearing black jeans, a red long-sleeved t-shirt with a thick, gold sweater over top, and a red baseball hat. Bruce approached him and said, "Hi."

"Hi Bruce, hey Natasha," Tony called, and then he dug a blanket out of the box they'd brought over. The grownup with him was a kind-looking man in a suit and Tony introduced him saying "This is Happy. He's sometimes not."

Happy smiled down at Bruce and Natasha and gave Tony a nudge. "I'll be on that bench, Tony. You have a couple hours, but then I have to take you to the concert this afternoon."

Tony grumbled, "Which means I have to dress up and that stinks." But then he dug some more and pulled out a black box and set it on the blanket. "Want to see my magic kit?"

They spent the next hour looking at what Tony had brought (he did bring an erector set, along with the magic kit, a football, several baseball mitts and a ball, and a couple of board games). Natasha looked at him incredulously as he pulled everything out and he finally noticed.

"What?" he asked.

"You brought your whole bedroom, didn't you?" She asked, pointing at the box.

Tony looked sheepish. "Um, no, not really. It's just some of my favorites." He paused and looked around. "Hey, where's Clint, anyway?"

Bruce fiddled with the erector set and looked up. "He didn't want to come."

"Oh," Tony said. "That's cool."

They played for a while and ended up throwing the baseball around, Natasha showing off just a little in Bruce's opinion, but whatever. When Bruce went to pick up a wild throw from Tony, he saw Clint standing off to the side, watching. He ran over.

"Hey, do you want to play? It's fun," Bruce asked.

Clint looked sullen and wary, but he looked over at Tony, who waved, and at Natasha, who shrugged her shoulders, then settled his eyes back on Bruce.

"I don't blame you if you're mad at her," Bruce said, looking down, scuffing his feet. "She shouldn't have said that stuff."

"You'd have figured it out anyway," Clint replied, frowning, tucking his books closer to his chest.

"Did you go draw?" Bruce asked, pointing at the notebook. Clint nodded.

"Come on, Barton!" they heard Tony yell. "I only have a little longer before I have to go, so come grab a glove!"

"He did bring an erector set, too," Bruce confided with a grin.

"Figures," Clint said, sighing and heading toward the box with the stuff in it.

Bruce jogged back to his spot and when Clint had gotten a glove of his own, he threw the ball to him. The older boy caught it easily and Bruce giggled a little when Clint threw the ball, hard, at Natasha, who had to duck and grab at the same time to keep it from hitting her face. Her throw back to Clint hit his glove with a thwack that rang out across the playground and Bruce saw Clint finally grin as he shrugged and threw it to Tony, who was waving his arms frantically to call for the ball.

When Happy called Tony to pack up to go, they all gathered back at the box.

"Does the orphanage have a good yard?" Tony asked Bruce.

"Uh, it's a pretty decent sized back yard for the city. Why?"

"You guys can keep the baseball and gloves if you want. At least for a while," he said, throwing his into the box.

Natasha said, "Why?" and Clint said, "Really?" at the same time.

Tony laughed. "I can't play by myself, you know. Besides, if you guys get permission to come over next weekend you can bring them back."

Bruce looked at Clint and Natasha, who both just shrugged. "Okay, thanks," Bruce said, and Clint and Natasha voiced their thanks as well. They waved as Tony left with Happy.

"He's really rich," Clint said as they watched Tony leave.

"His dad owns a huge company that makes high-tech stuff for the military," Natasha said as the three of them headed back to the orphanage for lunch.

"How do you know that?" Bruce asked.

She replied, "I looked him up at the library last night."

Bruce said, "You looked him up?"

Clint followed with, "You went to the library last night?"

She rolled her eyes and didn't bother to answer either question.

As they approached the orphanage steps, Bruce saw that Steve was sitting on the front steps with his own notebook and pencils, drawing, and Thor was sitting next to him carving a stick from one of the nearby oak trees with a pocketknife.

"You're not supposed to have a knife," Clint said as they approached and sat down on the steps with the other boys.

Thor looked up and grinned. "True, but I don't plan on hurting anyone with it, so until they take it away I'll work on this," and he held up the wood for the others to see. There was the beginning of a fox carved into the bottom quarter.

"That's really cool," Bruce said, impressed. He was lousy at anything artistic and was always a little jealous of anyone who could do that stuff.

"Yeah," Clint agreed, reaching for the stick. Thor handed it to him to inspect more closely.

Natasha looked at Steve, gestured to Clint and said, "The three of you should start an art club," and Steve looked up and smiled.

"Do you draw, Clint?" he asked.

Bruce watched Clint just nod and look away, and he realized how shy Clint really was. He was cocky, sure, but shy.

As they gathered on the steps, Bruce stiffened when he saw Barney, Loki, and a few other boys meandering up the sidewalk toward the orphanage. They stopped a few yards from the steps and Barney called out to Clint, whose face darkened as he went to see what his brother wanted.

Bruce watched the two boys as they spoke to each other. Barney really was a taller, fuller version of Clint, but his temper and gruff demeanor made him stand out distinctly. Bruce figured that even when Clint hit a growth spurt and reached his brother's height it would still be easy to tell them apart. Barney just looked mean.

As he watched, Barney gave Clint a shove and laughed as his little brother had to scramble to stay upright. Bruce felt anger simmer in his chest and he knew it wasn't smart and he knew it wasn't even right to get involved, but he suddenly couldn't control himself. His father was a bully, and he hated him. He didn't need to see more of that here where he was supposed to move past what had happened at his house a week and a half ago.

Bruce found himself stalking over to Barney and Clint and putting a steadying hand on Clint's arm.

"Stop pushing him around," he said, practically growling at Barney. Barney was a head taller than Bruce and bigger, and he just laughed. Bruce stopped thinking.

He launched himself at Barney and landed a pretty good punch on his cheekbone before the other boys jumped over and pulled Bruce off, shoving him to the ground. Clint just stood off to the side and watched. Bruce leapt back up and went for the nearest boy, feeling the anger of the last week burst from his hands. He hit and scratched and tore at the boy's shirt and the boy could only throw his hands up to defend against the flurry of punches Bruce was throwing.

Before he knew it stronger hands were pulling him off and holding him tight.

"Stop it, Banner!" Steve Rogers hissed as he held Bruce tight. "Jesus! You're gonna end up in jail!"

Bruce's vision cleared and he realized that Thor and Natasha and even Clint had stepped in front of Steve and Bruce and were glaring at Barney and his crew. For some reason Thor's brother Loki was just standing in the back smirking.

Barney ran a hand through his hair and glared at Clint. "Got yourself some friends, huh? It won't last, little brother. It won't last." And he beckoned his gang and they headed up the stairs into the orphanage.

Steve was still holding Bruce, but he let him go and Bruce stepped over to Clint.

"Your brother's a jerk, Clint. And an idiot. He doesn't know anything, you know?" he said around deep breaths.

Clint just nodded and looked at the retreating figure of the bigger boys. "Thanks for sticking up for me," he said quietly.

Then Natasha stepped over to Bruce. "You kinda flipped out, Banner."

He looked at her guiltily, and said, "Yeah, yeah I kinda did." To Steve, he muttered, " Sorry."

Steve shrugged. "I just don't want you getting in trouble. You were really pounding on him."

They all stood in silence for a few moments, but Thor finally said, "Who's hungry? I could eat a cow!"

Clint laughed and said, "Horse, big guy. The phrase is 'I could eat a horse.'"

Thor looked confused. "Who eats horses?"

They all laughed and headed inside, and Bruce hoped that lunch would calm the tremble in his hands as they left the street.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Thanks to dysprositos for beta brilliance. Thanks also to all of you who have reviewed, followed, and favorited this little story. Real life has come on full force, so it will probably be every week or so for an update. Just a few more chapters. I hope you like it!

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"What are you doing here, Loki?" Thor asked as they sat on the orphanage steps later that afternoon. Thor didn't know if it would work here, but sometimes in their past he could get his brother to talk to him. He suddenly felt a desperate need for that right now. "Why are you getting involved in Barney Barton's quarrel with his brother? I thought you said that Barney was boring."

Loki sighed dramatically. "Look around, Thor. This whole place is boring."

Thor shrugged. "We're just waiting anyway. You should stay out of trouble. You know our father will be displeased if he comes back to find you out of favor here."

"'Out of favor?' Really, Thor? Okay, two things: one, our father is not coming back. Parents don't drop their children on the steps of an orphanage and then come back."

"But-" Thor tried to interrupt. Loki was mistaken. Their parents had immigrated to the US, but the business they hoped to start was harder than they anticipated. They didn't have enough money to raise the boys _and_ start their business. So they decided to leave the boys at the orphanage, saying they'd be back when they had enough money to raise them properly. Thor wasn't sure that was the way it was supposed to work, but it's what they'd been told.

Loki stepped closer to Thor. "They _don't_ come back, Thor. You're being a childish idiot. Is that why you're hanging around the younger kids? Are they waiting for mommy and daddy, too? Get over it,." When Thor didn't interrupt again, Loki moved on to his second point. "Two: learn to fit in, brother. Stop saying things like 'out of favor.' When they stop noticing you, that's when you have the advantage. Figure it out." Loki brushed past him.

Thor reached out and grabbed his arm. He was still bigger and stronger than Loki, after all. "Why are you doing this? We used to get along. We had the same friends, played games together. Now you're pulling away from me and doing dumb things with boring people! Why?"

"Because it's more interesting than sitting around the steps wasting your time carving sticks. And because Barney Barton thinks he's in charge, and that amuses me, which is something, at least" Loki replied, shrugging out of Thor's grip and ascending the steps back into the orphanage.

Thor gave a frustrated kick to one of the plant pots on the steps and then spent ten minutes cleaning it up before someone came along and gave him demerits for it.

After lunch, Clint claimed tiredness and ducked away from his friends to head upstairs to his cot. He had some homework to do and it always took him at least an hour longer than the other kids, so waiting until Sunday to start was stupid. It was history homework, too, which was a double edged sword.

He wanted to do well in history because Mr. Coulson never treated him like he couldn't do anything but pass, but the class was hard for him because it was mostly reading and writing, and he wasn't very good at those.. Reading a chapter could take him more than two hours sometimes, if he did it the way Mr. Coulson said he should, underlining lightly in pencil the main ideas of each paragraph, underlining and looking up any words he didn't know. Reading anything but comic books took him forever.

So he pulled his book out from underneath his mattress where he'd stored it, and curled up to read. Less than a minute later, a hand bigger than his reached down and shut the book in his hands. Clint looked up to see Barney, and he sighed. "Lay off, Barney. This is actual school work."

"So why are you doing it, dumbass?" Barney sneered, and he pulled the book out of Clint's hands and flipped through the pages. "It's not like you can actually learn."

Clint looked up at his older brother and glared. Barney was two years older than Clint – he was in eighth grade and not ninth because of some dumb birthday cut-off thing that he barely missed. At fourteen and a half, he was through a growth spurt and towered over Clint. He was wearing a sweatshirt from Iowa State he'd dredged out of some bin somewhere, and torn jeans with canvas tennis shoes. He and Clint looked a lot alike, and Clint hated it most because it was like looking at a smaller version of their dad when he saw Barney, right down to the sneer on his face.

"Give it back, Barney," Clint snarled at his brother. He was not in the mood for this.

"Nope," Barney said lightly, and he threw the book on another cot a row away.

Clint pushed himself off of his cot and headed to get it, but Barney threw an arm out and stopped him. "Why won't you help me?" he growled at Clint. "It'll be an hour of your life, tops, and I'll even give you some money for it."

Clint sighed. They'd been over this at least six times in the last month and every time ended in more bruises for Clint. "No," he said simply.

Barney shoved Clint to the ground in one push. "Why the fuck not, Clint? Why won't you just do it? How many goddamned times do I have to beat you up before you'll do it?"

Clint glared up at him. Flippantly, he said, "One more time?" and was prepared for the kick in the ribs that Barney gave him. He grabbed Barney's foot and twisted. Barney didn't fall, but he hopped back and swore.

After he cocked his head and looked at Clint silently for a moment, Barney's blue eyes glinting like shards of clear glass, a feeling of dread pooled in Clint's stomach. He watched as Barney swiftly moved to the cot where he'd thrown the history book and picked it up. Before Clint could move from the floor he grabbed a whole section of pages and tore, ripping at least ten of them out. Clint yelled, "Stop!"

Barney laughed and ignored him, grabbing another section and tearing it out. "Why. Won't. You. Help?" he said quietly.

Clint stood, feeling lightheaded and fighting the tears that were threatening to seep out, and he reached for the book. Barney pulled back and hit Clint in the stomach, dropping him to the floor again. Another kick caught Clint in the shoulder, hard.

"You're going to help me, you little shit. Before I'm done you're going to help. I don't care why you don't want to," he said, his voice laced with rage.

Clint took a deep breath and stood again, feeling like Barney had beaten him to a pulp as he looked at the book in his brother's hands. He backed up and sat down on the edge of his cot, where Barney tossed the torn book down next to him. Clint looked up and said, "I won't help you because mom told me to be good."

Barney narrowed his eyes and said, "What?"

"I won't help you because the afternoon before she and dad died, the last thing she told me was to be good while they were out. So I will," he said, his throat feeling like sandpaper was covering it, and he hid his face in his hands, not trusting himself to shut the tears down this time. Barney didn't say anything and after a long pause, Clint heard him walk away, leaving him with his tears and ripped up history book.

Clint wondered what Mr. Coulson would do to him for messing up his book, and he gathered the torn paper and placed it carefully inside the cover, and then he settled back in to try and read the ruined pages. He gave up pretty quickly, though, unable to concentrate, and he headed down to the den to get away.

"Hey Clint, do you know how to play chess?" Bruce asked as he came into the den on the boys' floor. He'd been doing some homework after lunch but needed a break. Clint was sitting in a chair flipping through a catalog and barely looked up. He looked worn out, and Bruce wondered if he were imagining that Clint's hands were shaking a little bit.

"No," he answered.

"I could teach you. It's not that hard to learn," Bruce said, flopping down into a chair near Clint's.

Clint didn't answer and didn't look up. Bruce gave him a second and then said, "Okay, well, if you want to learn, I'll teach you later."

Clint finally looked up at him and then leaned forward. His eye was black from the fight yesterday and he moved a little stiffly, but he had a grin on his face. "Look at this, Bruce," he said, holding out the catalogue. There was a picture of a guy shooting a bow and arrow, and then a list of supplies for sale next to it. It was an outdoor or hunting catalogue.

Bruce leaned over and then up, giving Clint a blank look in return. "The archer?" he said, unsure of what Clint was excited about.

"Yeah, look at his bow. It looks cool, doesn't it?"

Bruce sat back in his chair and nodded, "I guess. Do you know how to shoot one?"

"Nah. I just think it looks cool. Cooler than a rifle or other gun, anyway."

"Did your dad hunt?" Bruce asked, wondering where the interest in a bow came from. He regretted the question immediately.

A dark look clouded Clint's face and the excitement left his eyes as if a light switch had gotten flipped. He looked down and said, "No. I don't know. Maybe before me and Barney came along. All he did when I was around was go to work, drink, and beat us up." He looked up at Bruce with a mirthless smile and said, "He wasn't much on hobbies."

Bruce shook his head. "Sorry," he said. He wasn't sure what else to say, except maybe 'my dad beat the crap out of me, too,' but in the end he really didn't want to talk about his dad, either. He was sorry it had come up at all.

Clint just shrugged. "You ended up in an orphanage, so I'm betting your life wasn't roses, either. It's just how it was."

Bruce nodded and a comfortable silence settled between the two boys. Clint looked back at his catalogue and Bruce pulled out a book from his back pocket. A little while later, though, Clint tossed the catalogue aside and admitted, "I always figured I'd be too stupid for chess."

Bruce looked up from his book, surprised. He grinned, though, and replied, "No one's too stupid to learn how to play. Strategy, that's a different story, but the game is fun to learn."

"So are you gonna teach me?" Clint asked. Bruce nodded, and headed to find the chess board. They played chess until dinner and Clint picked up on the basics quickly, even figuring a few things out on his own in terms of strategy. Bruce knew he'd be a good player with some practice. They headed down to dinner together.

Thor, Steve, and Natasha joined them at dinner, and Natasha, Steve and Clint ran outside afterward to play with the ball gloves Tony had let them borrow. Bruce sat on the back step and watched while he flipped through a book from school about science careers. He got bored, though, and waved to the others and headed back up to the den to see if anything good was on TV.

Instead he got unexpectedly cornered by Thor's brother, Loki.

"You're in science class with Tony Stark, aren't you?" Loki demanded without preamble.

Bruce just stared at him. He had no idea what this jerk wanted, but he would be careful. Loki ran with a dangerous crowd.

"I just wondered, you know. I saw you and your…friends… playing with him at the park," Loki followed, gesturing Bruce to a couple of chairs in the corner of the room.

"What do you want?" Bruce asked, still standing as Loki sat down, sprawling in a chair.

"I want to know if you want to help your friend Clint out a little," Loki said with a wicked grin.

"What? Clint doesn't need help," Bruce replied, sitting himself down in the nearby chair. "He's okay."

"Have you figured out why Barney shoves Clint around so much?" Loki asked, leaning forward.

"He's his little brother. Does he need another reason?" Bruce asked. He didn't have any siblings, but he figured that was how it worked.

"He needs Clint's help. Clint won't help him. That makes Barney angry."

"What does this have to do with me?" Bruce said, completely lost.

"You could convince him to help his brother just once, then I'll bet Barney would leave him alone."

"What does he need help with?" Bruce asked. He'd just met Clint and Barney, but he couldn't figure out what Barney would actually need Clint for.

"Have you seen Clint climb?" Loki asked, seemingly random.

"What? Climb?" Bruce felt himself getting mad. He didn't understand why this fourteen year-old bully was pestering him about a friend he made a week ago.

"He can climb anything," Loki said. "I mean anything. It's pretty cool, actually. Barney needs his help breaking into the record store down the street because the only access is a window thirty feet up a brick wall. If he helped him with that, Barney would leave him alone. It's the ultimate score that Barney wants, and for this neighborhood, that record store is it."

"I'm not going to convince Clint to help his brother break into a record store. You're crazy," Bruce said. He had to admit that he might have lived a bit of a sheltered life except for a crazy, angry father, but he knew a bad idea when he heard it. "Besides, why are you telling me this?"

"Clint's never bothered with friends before. Now he has you and that little dinner group down there. We just thought maybe you guys could convince him to help. Like I said, Barney will lay off of him if he helps. Might save him a few bruises." Loki yawned and stood. "Think about it. Things could get bad for little Barton if he doesn't help. Really bad. His brother's a tad . . . nuts." And with a grin Loki left the room, leaving Bruce behind.

Bruce was worried about Clint, but this was a bad idea. He wasn't going to do anything to help it along. Of course, that meant Clint would keep getting beat up, except…he had an idea. He hurried downstairs to see if Steve and Thor were still hanging out with Clint and Natasha.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** Thank you to dysprositos, who knows Bruce Banner better than I do and helped bring him to life a bit more here, for her beta skills. Thanks also to the kind folks who are commenting and encouraging me with this. I am a sucker for a good AU story, so I hope I'm producing one here. Enjoy this chapter!

* * *

Tony was bored. Bored, bored, bored. Breakfast with Happy and Jarvis, lunch with his mother and three other women friends of hers, another symphony concert that he slept through, and an hour of flitting from building a robot (he was determined) to reading old comic books was not enough to entertain him.

He found his thoughts drifting to the kids at the orphanage. Sure, their lives probably sucked, but at least they had other kids to play with. He sighed and looked around. He was on the ground floor of the mansion and the sun was shining brightly outside. He was staring through a window when an idea hit him. He knew it was tricky, and he'd probably annoy his mom enough for her to call his dad, but he didn't care.

He was bored.

He headed upstairs to the kitchen and grabbed an apple out of the refrigerator and then casually sidled over to the control box for the security system. After taking a quick bite of his apple, he opened the control box panel and pressed a few buttons. He closed the box, counted to twenty, and left the mansion. He snuck around to the back yard fence and tossed his apple aside before climbing quickly over and dropping into the adjoining yard. Wiping his hands on his jeans he sauntered out onto the street with confidence and headed for 71st Street.

"Thor, you throw like a girl," Clint shouted through laughter as Tony approached the back yard of the orphanage from the path. He'd checked in at the front desk and been given permission to go find his friends. As he rounded the corner he watched as Thor threw the ball to Steve. He really did throw like a girl. Tony saw Natasha sitting on a bench swing at the far end of the yard. He sauntered up to her, waving toward the three boys playing ball.

"Looks like the gloves are a hit," he said as he settled in close to Natasha.

Natasha gave him a glare and a shove, so he scooted down a little. Not very much, though. Natasha still looked annoyed.

"Where's Bruce?" Tony asked. He didn't really care who he got to play with, but Bruce was easier to talk to than this towering pretty girl who was _still _glaring at him.

"Upstairs reading, I think," Natasha said. "What are you doing here?"

"I was bored," Tony replied, and at that moment Bruce came jogging out of the back entry and into the yard.

He saw Tony and waved, but he went to where the boys were throwing the baseball around.

"Hey, guys, can I talk to you for a sec?" Bruce asked, and added, "Natasha, you too, okay?"

"Am I invited?" Tony said, pointing to himself and frowning. He wondered if these guys were forming some club or something; he didn't think eighth graders liked clubs.

Bruce nodded. "Sure, come here."

Tony joined them, all of them forming a little circle in the middle of the yard.

"What's up, Bruce?" Clint asked, pulling off his ball glove and tucking it under his arm.

Bruce froze, like he was uncertain what to do now that he was the center of attention. Recovering, he looked nervously at Clint and then over at Steve. He took a deep breath and clutched his arms to his chest. "Look, Clint, I just ran into Loki upstairs." He paused and Tony looked over at Clint, who seemed confused.

"So?" Clint demanded, when Bruce didn't continue.

Bruce tugged on the hem of his shirt. "He, um, he told me that you might keep getting beat up." He looked quickly at Thor and added, "I think you and Steve should take turns walking with us to and from school is all. I just think it would be a good idea. Until Barney relaxes a bit."

Tony watched as Clint crossed his own arms and took a step backward. Natasha saw it, too.

"Why is Clint going to keep getting beat up?" Natasha asked darkly.

Bruce looked at Clint and then back to the group. It looked to Tony like he was trying to decide what to say. Clint had narrowed his eyes and looked like he was daring Bruce to talk. Tony didn't like the looks of this.

Bruce hesitated, but he said, "Loki just said his brother wants him to do something and Clint's refusing. I just think if we all help look out for each other it's a good thing."

"Like a gang?" Tony asked, maybe a little too earnestly. If he got into a gang at eight years old it _might_ be kinda cool.

"Gangs are no good, Tony," Steve said quietly. But he looked back at Bruce and said, "But we can look out for each other. I don't mind walking with you guys to and from school, Clint."

Clint took his glove and tossed in onto the ground and glared at Bruce. "I don't need a fucking gang," he growled, and then turned and walked away, calling over his shoulder, "Or a goddamned babysitter."

Bruce looked around the group and sighed.

Natasha stepped toward him and quietly said, "Maybe you should have talked to him about it first, Banner," and she walked away, following Clint.

Thor spoke up. "Loki told you Clint was going to be beaten up?" he asked.

Bruce nodded. "Said until Clint agreed to help his brother they were going to keep doing it. I just wanted to help him."

"Well," Steve said, gathering the ball glove from the ground in front of him, "Even if Clint doesn't want it, Thor and I will keep our eye on him. That's a rotten way to treat your own brother."

"Okay," Bruce said, and then he looked at Tony. "Why are you here?"

Tony shrugged. "I was bored, so I snuck over. Just wanted to play some baseball or something, really."

Bruce nodded. "Look, I'm sorry, but I think I should go talk to Clint. I think I made him angry."

"Okay. I'll hang with these guys for a while," Tony replied, and Bruce ducked back inside.

* * *

Bruce climbed the steps and saw Natasha sitting at the top. "Did you talk to him?" he asked as he approached her.

"He told me to fuck off," she said with a shrug. "I figured I'd sit here for a while in case he tried to bolt."

Bruce sighed. "Think he'll talk to me?" he asked, looking down the hallway.

She nodded. "He might. It's worth a shot. He's skulking in the bedroom right now."

"Thanks," Bruce said, and headed down to Clint's room. He felt bad. He should have talked to Clint first but he was so convinced that Steve and Thor could be a big help and he knew they were all out there together and, well, he hadn't thought ahead. Hopefully he could convince Clint that they just wanted to help.

He walked into the bedroom and looked around, but he didn't see anyone in there. He looked through the whole room and came up empty. No Clint. He stood and looked around, and the window caught his eye. "Have you seen Clint climb?" echoed in Bruce's mind as he looked at the unlocked window. He walked over and pulled up the window by its frame. It creaked, but it opened pretty wide; big enough for a small boy to crawl through.

He leaned out, looked up, and saw a pair of tennis shoes dangling and swinging from the edge of the roof about six feet above him. There was no way Bruce could make it up there and he was a little in awe of any kid who could.

"Hey, Clint?" he called, unsure of what else to do. The feet above him stopped swinging, but Bruce got no answer. "Clint," he called again. "Can I talk to you?"

He got no reply again and suddenly his anger came boiling back to the surface. He was trying to apologize like he was supposed to do when he hurt another kid's feelings and Clint wouldn't let him. Besides, he was just trying to help. No one had ever helped Bruce before, and he thought it was the right thing to do. He thought Clint would appreciate it. But now Clint was just being a stubborn jerk.

"Fine," Bruce yelled out the window, pulling himself back inside. The anger acted like it always did. Once it started it just exploded, and he turned and kicked the nearest bed, rattling the frame. It sounded good to Bruce, so he did it again, kicking harder this time. The frame rattled again and he kicked again, and again, ignoring the growing pain in his foot.

"You're gonna break it, you moron," Clint said from the window as he hopped down to face Bruce. Bruce saw Clint look over his shoulder, so he turned, and Natasha, Steve, Tony and Thor were in the room, too, staring at him. He looked back at Clint.

"Yeah? So what? I was just trying to apologize. You're the moron," he growled, and he kicked the frame again for good measure. It slid this time, and slid right into Clint's leg.

"Hey! Stop it, you idiot!" Clint said, jumping back.

Bruce felt angry already and now Clint was calling him stupid, so he lunged. "Shut up!" he yelled as he shoved Clint backward. It caught Clint off guard so he stumbled, losing his footing and ending up on his butt.

"What the hell, Banner!"

"Fuck you!" Bruce snarled, jumping on Clint. "You think you're the only one getting screwed around here? You think you're the only one who hates it here! Hates _why_ you're here? Do you know why I'm here?" he yelled, grabbing Clint's shoulders and pressing him down against the floor. He and Clint were about the same size; he might have even had an inch or two on the older boy, and Bruce was sturdier than Clint. More muscle.

He also had surprise on his side. "Your folks died or left you or something like that? Huh? Stuck you with an idiot big brother? Well you should've seen what happened at my house! You're lucky! Lucky!"

Bruce pulled his arm back and made a fist, but before he could throw the punch, stronger arms than his were pulling him off of Clint and backward. It was Steve, and he pinned Bruce's arms behind him in one move.

"Stop it!" Steve growled. "Just stop it, both of you."

Bruce was panting and struggling, but he looked at Clint and saw him staring at Bruce wide-eyed and Bruce knew he'd overreacted like he always did when he wasn't careful. Bruce knew he'd been ready to try and beat Clint up, just because Clint was being an asshole. But now Clint was standing, straightening his shirt and running his hands through his hair and staring at Bruce.

"What happened, Bruce?" he asked quietly, and the kindness, the concern in his voice made Bruce go limp in Steve's arms, and suddenly Steve was holding him up.

Bruce didn't answer, but after a minute of silence Thor spoke up from the front of the room.

"My parents told us they couldn't afford to raise us and start a business. They dropped us off out front and disappeared. Loki says they're not coming back," he said quietly, staring at Bruce.

Everyone was quiet for a minute, and then Steve spoke next. "My mother died last week. She was all I had." He set Bruce on his feet and let go, stepping back slowly.

"My mother left me because she didn't want me," Natasha said, stepping toward the boys and the window. "She left me a letter explaining that the state could do a better job of raising me than she ever could, and not to ever come looking for her."

Tony looked at him and said, "My parents buy me everything under the sun. But they don't want to spend any time with me and won't let me play with other kids my age. I'm alone in my own house _all_ the time."

Bruce just stared at them, his breathing evening out and the room finally cooling down.

Clint spoke then, stepping toward Bruce slowly. "My dad beat the crap out of me every day since I was four. The only time he didn't beat me up was when Barney was around to stop him. Then he drove my mom into a tree one night and they both died."

Bruce looked around at all of them, thought about the anger coursing through his veins a few moments ago. Felt the shame of shoving Clint to the floor, felt the bizarre feeling of need for friends and desire to hide in a corner and read all the time, and felt the trust that they were all giving him at this moment.

He shoved his hands into his pockets, slouched a little more, and said, "My father beat me up a lot and my mom tried to keep him away from me. Two weeks ago I told him I got an A on a science test and he flipped out, told me I was a 'braggart' and not as smart as I thought I was. He went to hit me and my mom stepped in. He pulled a kitchen knife out of its holder and stabbed her. I watched her die in front of me."

Everyone was silent. Bruce felt a weight lift from his chest and he saw the faces of the other kids who all had one thing in common: they were all angry at their parents. Angry they died, angry they abandoned them, angry they never loved them, angry they didn't have any idea how to love them.

And then there was Clint.

His father had killed his mother, too. His father had broken every trust a father was supposed to hold. He understood. Bruce looked at Clint and saw it in his eyes. Saw the shared betrayal and saw the fear. Bruce stepped toward him and said, "I'm sorry, Clint. I should have asked you before telling the others. I just wanted to help you."

Clint nodded and then looked at the others. "We're all pretty fucked up, huh?"

Steve smiled, cocked his head, and said, "You cuss a lot for a twelve year-old, you know?"

Bruce smiled. "Maybe we can keep you from getting beat up all the time?" he said to Clint, gently.

Clint shrugged.

"What does Barney want, Clint?" Natasha asked softly, stepping toward him.

Clint sighed, rolled his shoulders back a little, and looked at the ground. "He wants me to help him rob a record store. He thinks I'm the only one who can get inside and unlock the door for them. The quieter they are the more loot they can get, and they think I can help." He paused. "I don't want to help."

Bruce saw Steve step forward, and he said, "That's admirable, Clint. But maybe we can help you."

Tony piped up cheerfully from the corner. "Yeah, the two big guys here can keep your face intact and the rest of us can think of a way to stop the bad guys. We're smart enough to."

And with that the tension in the room vanished, leaving the kids to plan and scheme and figure out how to stop the bad guys. They sat and talked until the house parents kicked Natasha back to the girls' floor and Tony out the front door.

After Tony left, and he was on his own again, Bruce sat on his bed, trying to figure out what was happening to him. He knew his anger was a problem, how if he wasn't careful, he turned into a smaller version of his dad, lashing out at anyone near enough to hit. And when he thought about tonight too hard he felt his hands start to tremble. He hadn't intended to tell anyone what his dad had done. And telling it felt good, but it felt bad at the same time. There was shame that came bubbling up, and he had to tamp it down hard as he sat and talked to the other kids.

He'd help take care of his new friend, though, and he figured that would make him feel better.

It was a nice idea, taking care of Clint.

* * *

Tony said good bye to the other kids and headed back home. He walked absentmindedly, replaying the scene at the orphanage in his head. He'd thrown his story into the mix because it seemed like the right thing to do. But when he replayed it in his head, he sounded like a whiny rich kid.

When he climbed back over the fence and dropped into his yard, he groaned as the alarms went off and a security guard scrambled over to him.

"Master Stark," the man said, as he skidded to a stop. "Are you all right?"

That wasn't the question he'd expected, but he smirked to himself because it certainly was useful. "Yes, sir, but there was a guy, and I saw him climbing over the fence but he saw me and took off! I think he went toward the main street!" and he pointed the opposite direction.

The guard nodded and turned and ran back toward the entrance, pulling his walkie talkie out of its holder as he ran.

Tony grinned and headed back to the mansion. As he climbed the steps to go inside, Jarvis, the butler, stepped out of the door and smiled at him. "Did you have a good visit with your friends, Master Stark?"

And Tony swallowed his surprise and just nodded. "Yeah, thanks Jarvis." He went inside, wondering how clairvoyant Jarvis really was. He headed upstairs and sat at his desk for a while, drawing a picture of the record store exterior and the surrounding street from memory, trying to think of any way to make Barney Barton regret messing with his new friend.

He might be a whiny rich kid, but he was a _smart_ whiny rich kid, and that might just be a good for something.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Wow. So it's been since January and I'm really sorry. If anyone is still willing to read this, I promise it's not going to get left alone again until it's finished! I had a combination of real life and then writer's block that grew and grew and grew. Then Tony solved my problem, as he often does. So if you're willing, give this a shot, and I hope you like it! Thanks to dysprositos for awesome beta help and constant encouragement. She kept saying she liked it and I should keep going. Thanks especially to all of you who have subscribed or commented over the past few months. You kept this on my radar for me and I am glad you liked it so far! Thanks!**

* * *

Clint spent the early part of Sunday morning taping his textbook pages together enough to read them, and then spent the latter part actually reading them. He was going to have to explain to Mr. Coulson that the book was ruined, but at least he might pass the reading quiz. Maybe. He was struggling with the last few pages and he was tired, and as he sat on his cot trying to figure out the answer to one of the chapter review questions, one of the bigger kids walked by and slapped the book to the floor.

"God damn it!" Clint shouted as the kid walked away, smirking.

"Barton!" Mr. Merrit's voice rang out in the room as Clint leaned over to pick up his book. "If you don't clean up your language I'm going to stop handing out demerits and drag you into Ms. Stanton's office for a grounding! Ten demerits for now."

Grounding meant isolated meals and no entrance to the den or access to the rec room. "But sir," Clint protested, but he didn't get the words out.

"Twenty demerits, Barton."

"Yes, sir," Clint conceded with a sigh. This morning was shit, Clint thought to himself. Natasha, Bruce, and the others were all outside in the back, and Clint knew he wasn't going to finish his work in time to join them. Tony had said he'd come over this afternoon, though, so he might get a chance to see him at least.

Clint liked Tony for some weird reason. He was a punk and way younger than Clint, but he had cool stuff and seemed more than willing to share. He also wanted to help Clint, although Clint wondered if some of that wasn't just getting to show off his smarts. He had told Clint he'd draw up a schematic of the record store area so that they could figure out weak points and how to trap Barney and Loki so the cops could get them and teach them a lesson. Clint had to ask what 'schematics' were, and once he'd gotten that straightened out, he'd had to grapple with the nagging feeling in his chest.

The weird thing was he wasn't sure he _wanted_ to get Barney caught by the cops. At Barney's age, that would mean getting sent to juvenile detention, and that would mean Clint would be alone. Sure, he had some new friends, but Barney was his brother. He was an asshole, and Clint missed the kid who used to protect him from their father, but he was still his brother.

He was the only family Clint had left.

With a sigh, he shut his book and shoved it under his bed. He was done thinking about school. He'd do his best and that was what Mr. Coulson said he wanted from Clint. He pulled out one of the comic books and leaned back on his cot to read it. He was surprised when he woke up later with the comic splayed on his chest.

It was almost lunch time, so he threw on some shoes and wandered down to the dining room and found a spot at a table in the corner. Only a couple minutes later, Steve, Natasha, Thor, and Bruce wandered in and joined him.

"Did you get your homework done, Clint?" Steve asked as he sat down with a plate full of spaghetti.

"Mostly," Clint replied. "That asshole Jake got me twenty demerits when I cussed at him for messing my book up again, though."

"Stop cussing, you idiot," Natasha mumbled into a bite of pasta.

"It's hard!" Clint protested.

"It's true," Bruce said around a mouthful of bread. "I read that speech patterns are ingrained by the time you're five. Really, Clint can't help himself."

Clint grinned at Bruce. Sometimes nerds were cool.

"Speaking of helping yourself," Bruce added, scooping mac and cheese onto his fork, "Any ideas of how you get out of the record store without getting caught?"

Clint looked down at his plate and shook his head. "No. I mean, I have to let them in. The thing is…" he trailed off, shoving pasta around with his fork. He didn't really want to share his fears with his new friends, especially when they were all so willing to help him.

"What?" Natasha asked, leaning a little bit forward.

He couldn't tell them what was really on his mind, so he told them something else. "Well, I figure Barney's not really gonna want me waltzing out the front door after I let them in. He'll be afraid I'd go snitch." The funny thing was, Clint didn't figure Barney was worried about him snitching, really. But he'd probably put up a front for his friends and demand that Clint stay.

Steve set his drink down on the table and nodded. "So we call the cops, but we gotta help get you out of there before they get to the building."

Clint didn't answer, realizing then that he was going to have to make two plans: one to go along with his friends who were trying to help him, and one to get both him and Barney out of there safely. He didn't care if the other kids got caught – they all deserved it, even Barney, really – but he just couldn't imagine life without his brother around.

"Tony will help," Natasha chimed in. "Let's go out back until he gets here."

They all finished their lunch and headed outside to wait for Tony.

Steve was showing Clint how he learned about shading in his pencil drawings when Tony burst into the backyard of the orphanage about an hour later.

"I've got it!" he said by way of a hello to everyone. They all gathered around a bench and Tony spread a blueprint of the store out in front of him on the bench as he knelt on the ground. "Look, we've got to get Clint in and out before the cops get there, but it's not going to take Barney and his idiot friends long to get the cash out of the safe if they have a plan for that." He paused. "I assume they have a plan for that."

"Maybe they're just stealing records and movies?" Steve asked.

Clint shook his head. "No, he's got something up his sleeve to get into the safe. He's bragged about it to me already."

Tony nodded. "Okay, well. They have a plan, but even the worst plan they have would still only give us ten minutes or so to get the cops onto the scene."

"Unless we call ahead?" Bruce asked. "Let them know what's going to happen?"

"Too risky," Natasha said. "We need to make sure they're actually in there before we call, or else they won't get caught. Besides, the earlier we call the bigger risk of _Clint_ getting caught."

"Yeah, yeah," Tony interrupted. "I've got it all figured out." He pointed to the window on the side of the building. "This is the window Clint's going in." He paused for a moment and glared at Clint. "You're crazy, by the way. Thought you should know."

Clint grinned and shrugged. "I like climbing."

"Yeah, okay," Tony replied. "So you go in here. They don't have alarms on the windows, so that's good. You go in, and we call the cops."

"Is that going to give him enough time, Tony?" Natasha said quietly. "Clint can't be there when the cops show up."

"I know. Here's the thing. There's a side door to the building. It doesn't have an alarm on it, but it doesn't open from the outside. So Steve and Thor will be waiting there, and when Clint gets into the building, he lets them in first, before he lets Barney and the others in."

Clint started to see where Tony was going with this. He really was a smart little kid.

Steve interjected, "Okay, so me and Thor get in. We act like bodyguards for Clint?"

"Sort of," Bruce said, seeing where Tony was going as well. "You guys will help Clint keep Barney and the others from leaving before the cops get there, plus they don't know about the side door, so when the cops arrive we – wait. Tony, what happens when the cops arrive?

Tony grinned. "Look, they keep Barney and the others from leaving, and when the cops get there, you guys can't go out the side door – the cops will know about it and have someone there. So you guys are going to the roof!"

They were all silent for a moment, then Bruce said quietly, "Tony, the closest roof is ten feet away. They can't jump that far. They'll get caught."

Tony held up a finger and shook it like a parent correcting a child. "No, no, no. They can't make it, but I have something that will let them make it!" and he pulled a picture from his pocket. Everyone looked at it and then looked back at Tony.

Steve was the first to talk. "It's a plank."

Bruce leaned over and looked again. "Tony, it's a plank."

Tony nodded exuberantly and laughed, "In your pocket!"

Thor asked, "What?"

"It's a plank in your pocket! I hope when I'm older I can apply for a patent, but for now it's a good place for a test run."

Clint thought it was a good idea. "How does it work?"

Tony's eyes gleamed. "Steve can carry it in his backpack – it can't really fit in your pocket, as it turns out- and after you guys make sure Barney and his gang can't follow you, you head for the roof. There's a staircase inside the building that goes there, and once you get up there he can unpack the plank. It's gonna be made of lightweight, sturdy plastic and you just aim at where you want it and press a button and it extends. There's even a lip on the extending end that can grab the other side so it won't slip."

They all sat in stunned silence.

"How are you going to make this?" Natasha asked.

"Where will you get the plastic?" Bruce followed, quickly.

"How the hell does it fit in a backpack?" Clint finished, his arms crossed over his chest.

Tony's grin got even bigger. He pointed at Bruce and said, "My dad's been working on some new project and he let me have a few extra sheets of the plastic he's using. I'll tell him I need some more for a science project at school. He always buys the science project angle." Then he pointed at Natasha and stated, "I can make anything I dream up, sister," and he pointed at Clint and said, "Ever heard of origami? It works wonders. It'll fit."

Natasha glared at him and he took a step back. "Look," he said. "I can do this. Clint gets into the building, lets Steve and Thor in to help, and then they make for the roof when they hear sirens. My invention will take it from there and they skip across to the next building and disappear. Oh," he added, "the plank is retractable. Once you're over you pull it in and the dummies who might be chasing you can't go anywhere."

Clint looked around at his friends and then looked at Tony. "So you're going to build that plank thing? How long will that take?"

Tony shrugged. "Give me a week? That should be enough. "

Bruce looked at the drawing again and then back to Clint. Tony really did have a good idea here, and Bruce liked the idea of Steve and Thor going in with Clint to the store. Clint was tough, but with that many kids he'd be easily overwhelmed in a fight.

Tony packed the drawing away and stood. "I can't stay. I had to sneak out for this, and my dad was actually saying something about checking in on me later. I have to go."

"Thanks, Tony," Steve said. "We'll see you at school tomorrow, okay?"

"Yep," Tony replied, pulling his backpack onto his shoulders. "See ya!"

* * *

Bruce waved and looked over at Clint, who stared blankly off into the distance. "Clint?" He asked, and Clint snapped his head around to look at Bruce.

"Yeah?" he asked, and then sighed heavily. "Tony is smart, huh?"

Bruce grinned. "Yeah, I can't wait to see his plank in a pocket."

"You're all crazy," Natasha suddenly said. "You're going to get caught."

Clint wrapped his arms around himself. "Why do you say that?"

She glared at him. "I just think you're stupid for trying this."

Bruce stepped in. He thought it was stupid, too, but he knew that Clint felt like he had to do this. "He's going to do it, though. So it's good that we have a plan."

Clint looked at all of them and then walked away.

"What's wrong with him?" Steve asked as Clint left.

"He's waking up to the idea that it's stupid?" Natasha said.

"Stop, Natasha. He's going to do it so he can stop getting beat up. That's not stupid," Bruce retorted, annoyed with her pessimism.

"She's just worried Clint'll get caught," Steve said quietly and Natasha shot him a glare. Bruce figured he was probably right.

"He is very brave," Thor chimed in. "He will stop them."

"You do know we're going to be catching Loki, too, right?" Natasha asked Thor.

"Yes," he said, sounding resigned. "But I think it may be a good lesson for him. He has too little regard for others."

"That's if all of this works," Bruce said. "So let's hope it does. They could both use a lesson."

Natasha sighed. "I'm going to go see if he's okay," She said, and then jogged off to go find Clint.

Bruce said good night to Steve and Thor and headed inside. He sat down in the boy's den with a comic book. He settled in and started to read, feeling a little melancholy. After a few minutes, he noticed someone standing in front of him. He looked up and there stood Thor's brother, Loki. Bruce sighed and put down his comic. "Did you want something?" He asked.

Loki sat down next to him. "Did you talk to little Barton?"

"Why?" Bruce replied cautiously.

Loki shrugged. "I have things I'd like to do. Plans I'd like to make. He's holding things up."

"Yeah, well, I think he'd be crazy to go along with it, so don't look to me to help."

Loki frowned. "What if I offered to let you in on my plan? Would you press him for me then? I can offer you…things."

Bruce laughed. "Like what? Comic books?"

Loki shrugged. "Comic books, science supplies, whatever you want. You seem smart enough to convince him."

"I'm staying out of it, Loki. You should, too," Bruce replied, and stood up. "See you later," he said, and he walked away.

As he brushed his teeth and climbed into bed that night, he felt the emptiness in his chest grow a little bit. He never thought his life would be going to a new elementary school and plotting a break-in and escape this time three weeks ago. Life was weird. He hoped this whole thing worked so he and his new friends could go back to just worrying about school.

With that hope, he curled into his bed and tried to go to sleep.

* * *

Clint made his way to the den after talking a little bit with Natasha. He had told her he was just nervous about this whole thing, and she hadn't really been up for helping. She thought he was crazy, too. He flopped into a chair and found a newspaper sitting on the table next to him and started flipping through. It was when he came to the upcoming community events page that he sat up straight and lost his breath for a moment.

He was looking at a page-wide spread about Carson's Carnival of Travelling Wonders.

Maybe, just maybe, he thought to himself. He'd certainly heard of that kind of thing as an escape.

An escape was just what he was going to need.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Thanks to dysprositos for beta brilliance, again! Thank you to all who have taken the time to drop a note about the story – they're helping me a lot on this one! I hope you enjoy a fluffier chapter!**

* * *

Clint couldn't sleep that night. First, Steve came into the room two minutes too late to be helpful, and Barney and two other boys managed to tie Clint to the bed again. He fucking hated being small. One day, when he was a teenager, he was going to tie Barney up and see how he liked it. Clint just couldn't defend himself from three boys.

Steve did come along, though, and he untied Clint and for some reason said he was sorry for not being there to help. Clint just shrugged and muttered his thanks for getting him untied. He was embarrassed and didn't want to dwell on it too long.

After he got out of that, he tried to go to sleep. But he couldn't. Tony's plan just rolled around in his head and he didn't know how he was going to get Barney out of the record shop if Steve and Thor were along to help. He didn't understand why these guys were helping him anyway. He wasn't sure he was right in wanting to help get Barney out of this mess along with him. He wasn't sure about that circus ad he found, either. He tried imagining what life in the circus might be like, but all he could come up with was shoveling animal shit and serving cotton candy to obnoxious rich kids.

Like Tony. But Tony's parents didn't take him to the circus; they took him to the symphony. See, what the hell was someone like Tony doing hanging around Clint, much less helping him? And why should Clint stick around here when kids were just going to keep on picking on him? Natasha thought he should just keep refusing to help with the record store thing. She thought they could help protect him, but she was wrong. He knew no one would leave him alone. He just had something about him that made bullies want to kick the shit out of him. He had no idea what it was.

He didn't sleep.

The next day found him struggling to stay awake at school. By the time he got to Mr. Coulson's history class, he was miserable.

Mr. Coulson was pretty cool for a teacher. He dressed in suits, which was weird at first, but it _did_ work to make Clint want to stand up straighter when he talked to him. He was also a good teacher – he was funny and tried to make things interesting, but even he couldn't keep Clint focused today.

Besides, Clint was nervous about telling him about the book. Clint had asked to stay after class for a minute, so when the other kids left, he took a deep breath and approached Mr. Coulson's desk. The teacher pulled his black-framed glasses off his face as Clint approached and gave him a warm smile.

"You seemed a little tired today, Clint," Mr. Coulson said as Clint went to lay the damaged textbook on the desk in front of him.

Clint sighed. He knew Coulson had noticed. "Yes, sir. I'm sorry."

Mr. Coulson shrugged. "We all have bad nights. What can I do for you?"

Clint looked down at the book and then out the window. "Um, well, two things, really," he said quietly.

"Okay, shoot," Coulson answered.

Clint looked at him and sighed. "I didn't do well on the quiz today. I just thought I'd tell you that I knew that, and I'm sorry. It was a bad weekend and, well." He stopped, unsure of how to go on.

"Okay, Clint. I'll look over your quiz, and when I'm finished if you want we can go through it together. You know, to make sure you understand the things you missed."

Clint nodded. "Okay. Thanks." He looked at the book and reached over to open it to his taped pages. "Also, my brother and some other ass—jerks, I mean." He sighed. He just _couldn't_ talk without cussing.

Good thing Coulson laughed. "Brothers can be jerks. What happened?" he prodded gently.

"They ripped a bunch of pages out of my book and basically ruined it, sir. I taped the pages back together so I could try and read it for the test today, but it still looks like garbage and made it hard to read. I don't know if I have to pay for it, but I will. I'll pay for it if you'll give me some time. I don't get much of an allowance but I'll save it if you'll let me—"the words spilled out of his mouth in a rush, but Mr. Coulson stopped him by putting his hand on Clint's arm. It made Clint flinch and Mr. Coulson pulled it back right away.

"Clint. Stop," he said firmly. Clint looked up at him. "It'll be okay. The book was old before you got it, and we have to replace a few each year anyway. You don't have to pay for it."

His voice was kind and Clint took a deep breath. "Oh. Okay, um. Thanks. I am sorry, though. Also about the quiz today."

"Did you do the best you could do?" Mr. Coulson asked, piercing Clint with his blue eyes.

Clint nodded firmly. "Yes."

"Good. That's good. Like I said, we'll go over it together later this week, okay?"

"Okay." He sat quietly for a moment. He wondered what would happen if he talked to Mr. Coulson about what was going on at the orphanage. He'd never really trusted grownups, until he met the kind teacher sitting in front of him, and his exhaustion and Mr. Coulson's gentle voice were making him wonder about asking for advice. He leaned forward and shuffled his backpack a little to adjust for the history book not being there, and a piece of paper fell out of his pocket.

Mr. Coulson picked it up just as Clint reached for it, but it had opened and the older man looked it over, a puzzled look on his face.

"Are you going to the circus, Clint?" he asked.

Clint instinctively folded his arms across his chest and shook his head, no.

"It looks fun, though, huh? I hear it's a pretty good show," Coulson continued.

Clint just reached for the paper and folded it up carefully and shoved it back in his pocket.

"Clint," Mr. Coulson started, his voice a little different than it ever had been before. "Is everything going all right at the orphanage? I mean, other than out of hand textbook mangling?" He leaned forward a little and Clint's chest clenched tighter.

He waited, still debating about asking for help, but then settled for no. This man in front of him could never understand what Clint's world was like. "Yes, sir. Everything's fine."

Mr. Coulson glanced at Clint's pocket, like he was seeing something more there. "Clint, if you ever need to talk to someone, about things with your brother or outside of school, you can talk to me. Or if you'd rather talk to one of the counselors, I can help you with that, too."

Clint looked down and shook his head, afraid that the tears pushing their way out might be seen. "Thank you, sir. Everything's okay," he said quickly, and he stood, ignoring the piercing blue gaze of his teacher's concerned face and ignoring the way his own voice shook.

Mr. Coulson sighed as Clint pulled his backpack onto his shoulders. "Do you need a pass for your next class?"

Clint nodded. "Yes, sir."

He waited patiently as Mr. Coulson filled out the slip of paper for the hall pass, and he took it without meeting his teacher's eye. "Thanks," he mumbled, and then he left the room as quickly as he could.

Instead of going to class, he practically ran out the side door nearest his classroom, and didn't stop running until he got to his hiding place. He threw his backpack down on the dusty floor and curled up next to the old fashioned desk and put his head down, taking heaving breaths and trying to hold back his tears.

* * *

Bruce looked around after school at the flagpole where he and Clint and the others usually met. Clint was usually the first one out, but he didn't come. Even after Natasha, Steve, and Thor wandered out, he wasn't around.

"Where is he?" Bruce asked Natasha. She had more chances to talk to Clint during the day on a regular basis.

She shrugged. "I don't know. He wasn't in art this afternoon. Maybe he cut out early?"

"Does he do that?" Steve asked, clearly upset at the idea of Clint skipping school.

Natasha crossed her arms. "I don't know. I've had art with him all year and I've never noticed him skipping, but maybe."

"No, something's wrong," Bruce said, pulling his backpack onto his shoulders. "Let's go find him."

At that moment, a teacher approached their group, a man in an impeccable suit. Bruce had never seen him before, but Natasha clearly had. She stepped forward a little bit as he approached.

"Ms. Romanov," the man said, and Bruce liked his even, gentle tone.

She met his eye and answered, "Yes?"

The teacher looked around at the rest of them and then focused on Natasha. "Have you seen Mr. Barton this afternoon?"

They all looked at each other and then Natasha shook her head. "No, sir."

"But you have a class with him, don't you?" the man asked.

"Yeah. But he wasn't there."

The man sighed heavily. "All right, thank you," he said and then he paused, looking more carefully at all of them. "Can I ask you all a question?"

Bruce felt his guard go up. He didn't want to get Clint in trouble.

"Is there anything going on in Mr. Barton's out of school life that a grownup should know about? Something he might need help with?" The man's face was so honest, so open, that Bruce wanted to step forward and tell him everything about Barney, the bullying, the robbery plans, everything. He didn't, though, unwilling to break his new friend's trust.

"No, Mr. Coulson, I don't think so," Natasha answered firmly, maybe a little too quickly if Bruce had anything to say about it.

Mr. Coulson looked them over very carefully again and nodded. "Okay. Well. You should all know, though, that I am willing to help you or Mr. Barton if you need it. You can come by my classroom any time and I'll write you a pass for your other classes. You have a place to come, all right?"

They all nodded solemnly.

Steve spoke up and said, "Thank you, sir."

Mr. Coulson smiled and said, "You're welcome. Just make sure you come if you need to. See you all later." And he walked away.

Bruce wondered if they'd made a mistake as he left, but it was too late, and no one really wanted to betray Clint's confidence. "We need to find him," Bruce said firmly, and everyone nodded.

They headed back to the orphanage, but Clint wasn't there. They went to the park and the library and couldn't find him either. Finally, Bruce said, "What about that spot where he hides his stuff, Natasha?"

She looked at him sharply and then nodded, and they took off for the abandoned building. When they looked in the window toward where Clint usually kept his belongings, they saw him curled up in a ball on the floor.

"I'll go get him," Bruce said, clearly leaving no room for argument. The others stepped back so he could climb in the window.

Clint didn't move as Bruce approached, and Bruce realized that he was sleeping as he got closer and saw the steady rise and fall of his shoulders. He stepped close carefully, not wanting to startle his friend.

"Clint?" He asked softly, kneeling down next to the smaller boy. "Clint, hey. Can you wake up?"

Clint stirred and then shot straight up, his eyes wide with fear and his breaths coming in gasps.

"Hey, it's okay," Bruce said, leaning back a little; giving Clint some more space. He watched as awareness came into his friend's eyes. "You're okay, Clint. We just thought you might want to come back to 71st Street with us. School's over."

Clint pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them as his eyes settled and he came to himself. He looked awful to Bruce, like he'd, well, like he'd been sleeping on the floor of an abandoned building for a few hours.

"You hungry? We can go get a snack and then look at some comic books if you want," Bruce said gently.

Clint looked at him and blinked heavily. "Yeah? Okay. I guess so," he said.

"Why'd you leave school early?" Bruce asked, trying not to be accusatory. He couldn't fathom skipping school himself, but he tended to follow rules pretty rigidly.

Clint ducked his head. "I was tired. I failed my history quiz, I'm sure of it, and Mr. Coulson was prying and I didn't sleep last night and—" his voice broke and it sounded like he was going to cry. He took a deep breath and stood quickly. "Come on. Let's go back. I'm hungry."

Bruce followed him silently and they all headed back to the orphanage. They got some food and took it outside, and pretty soon Clint was teaching Thor how to scale a wall. Thor wasn't very good at it, but it was funny to watch.

Later that night, Clint and Bruce sat in the den and passed comics back and forth to each other. Clint put his down after a while and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "You ever think about running away?" he asked Bruce.

Bruce set his book down on the table in front of them and nodded. "I used to. Sometimes, when my dad was being a jerk."

"Why didn't you? I mean, he sounds awful," Clint asked.

Bruce shrugged. "I don't know. I didn't want to leave my mom, I guess. Plus there was…" he trailed off, kind of embarrassed at his other reason.

Clint pressed him, though. "Plus what?" he asked.

Bruce sighed. "School," he admitted. "I really like school, and if I ran away I probably wouldn't be able to go."

Clint laughed. "School, huh? We totally have different priorities, Banner."

"You thinking about running away?" Bruce asked quietly. This was serious. This wasn't something he'd thought about seriously, but he could see Clint thinking this was an option.

Clint didn't answer right away. Then he pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and showed it to Bruce. It was an ad for a circus. Bruce looked up, incredulous.

"It was just something I thought about," Clint said. "I mean, a circus'd be cool, huh? Plus they travel and I'd be away from this place but still have people."

Bruce thought for a moment. "You're crazy, Clint. You have a place to stay here, and a school. Mr. Coulson was asking about you after school today – he was worried. He'd help you if you asked, you know. Us, too. We'll help you."

Clint scowled, but then admitted, "Mr. Coulson's pretty cool." He looked down at his hands and then back up at Bruce. "I know you guys will help. But I wouldn't _need_ help if it was just me and Barney. He'd leave me alone, if the other kids weren't around to impress."

Bruce thought for a minute and then he leaned over to Clint. "You think he won't have people to impress there? Plus, how do you know they'd take you? What if they were mean, too? Clint," he said, hearing some desperation in his voice and wondering where it came from, "You could get hurt worse there. If we get Barney and Loki out of the picture here with our plan, then you could stay and have friends and at least a couple grownups looking out for you."

Clint stared at the paper in his hands and then looked up at Bruce with a sheepish grin and shrugged. "It was just an idea." He shoved the paper back in his pocket and reached for another comic book. "Just a dumb idea," he added softly.

Bruce realized where his desperation came from when he heard him. He leaned over and said, "It's not a dumb idea, Clint. Just kind of dangerous. Let us help you instead." He paused and grinned, letting Clint know why he'd sounded desperate earlier. "We're your friends."

Clint smiled and nodded, and sunk himself deeper in his chair, and the boys read until lights out.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Thanks to dysprositos for beta brilliance and science-y stuff. Thanks also to everyone who has been reviewing and adding my story to their list. I fell behind in replying to reviews and I apologize. They are appreciated. **

* * *

Tony was excited when he woke Tuesday morning. His dad was supposed to get the materials for his 'science project' and Bruce had gotten permission to come to his house that afternoon to help him start building the collapsible bridge for Clint's escape. A play date and a new science project in one day; Tony wasn't sure how he was going to make it through school without imploding.

He almost made it.

But he didn't.

"Tony Stark, what are you _supposed _to be doing?" Mrs. Greenberg asked in her grating voice.

He looked up at her slowly, noting for the first time her interesting outfit for the day – a green and pink paisley skirt with a sky blue sweater. "Reading test?"

"Yes, Tony. Reading test," she said, crossing her arms. "What is it you are doing instead?"

He looked down at his paper and back up at her, meeting her cool gaze evenly. "Blueprints."

"Blueprints?"

"Yeah. Well, sort of," he said, putting his pencil in his mouth and shuffling his paper a bit to get to the back page. "See, this one is the blue print, and this other stuff, well, those're calculations."

She glared at him, but he hardly noticed. "Calculations. You do understand that this is your Language Arts class, right?"

Tony looked back up at her. "I'm finished."

"What?" she replied, confused.

"I'm finished. With the test. It wasn't very hard. So I thought I'd get some work done on my project," he took his pencil out of his mouth and reached under his desk where he'd put his test and handed it to the teacher.

She took it from him, stared at it for a moment, and then looked back at Tony. "If you're finished with the test, you're supposed to work on finishing the first chapter of our next novel." She sounded very matter-of-fact and derisive, but Tony just wanted to get back to work on his project.

"I finished that, too," he said, putting the pencil back in his mouth and looking down at his calculations.

"Your attitude needs some serious work, Mr. Stark," She said, her cheeks a little red from anger, and maybe embarrassment as the other kids in the class were watching the exchange carefully.

He looked back up at her and said, calmly, "I finished your work. I have a lot to do on this and it has to be finished by this afternoon, so, um, I'd like to work on it."

"You can work on it in the principal's office, young man. I don't need your attitude in my classroom," she said, stalking over to her desk to write out a pink slip.

Tony groaned and started shoving his papers into his backpack. Typical. He was being punished for being competent. Again. He kept hoping that wouldn't happen anymore, but it seemed inevitable. He took the pink slip and wandered up to the principal's office, handing the paper to the secretary and slumping down in a chair along the wall.

The principal didn't waste her time talking to Tony about what had happened, just passed him one of the lap desks she kept in her office corner and told him to settle down before next period. She wasn't so bad.

* * *

Bruce and Clint didn't see each other during the day very often, but sometimes, when Bruce was over in the other building for science class, it worked out. Of course, Bruce would rather it not work out by him walking in on Clint in a fight in the boys' bathroom.

"Clint!" Bruce yelled, his voice louder than he expected, as he stepped into the bathroom in the middle of class.

Clint was holding Loki by the throat and swinging his other fist against the older boy's cheek, fury in his eyes and his body tense with holding the bigger kid down. Loki tried to shove Clint off of him, but the smaller boy had adrenaline and anger on his side, and he hit Loki again, this time in the stomach, and Loki doubled up in pain. Bruce rushed over and pulled Clint off of him, grabbing him by the waist and pulling.

"Stop it, Clint! You're going to get in trouble!" Bruce growled as he pulled him back. Loki scrambled away, breath heaving.

At that moment, the bathroom door opened again and Mr. Coulson stepped in, a frown on his face. He pulled his black rimmed glasses off and tucked them in his suit pocket and surveyed the scene in front of him. Loki wasn't bleeding, but his cheek was red and a bruise was forming on his eye. Bruce still held Clint, who had stopped struggling as soon as the teacher stepped into the room.

"Anyone hurt, boys?" he asked mildly, staring at Loki.

The older boy stood straighter and smoothed down his shirt and pursed his lips. "This idiot jumped me, sir. It was unprovoked."

Mr. Coulson looked around again and then glanced back at Loki. "I asked if anyone was hurt. Do you need to go to the nurse, son?" he asked Loki.

Loki grimaced and glared at Clint. "No, he's not that big a menace."

"Good," Mr. Coulson said. Bewilderingly, he looked at Bruce and Clint and said, "You two, come with me. You," he said, pointing at Loki, "Can go back to class, since you're not hurt."

Clint squirmed out of Bruce's arms and stepped away from him. "Bruce didn't do anything, sir. He was just trying to help me."

Mr. Coulson nodded and Bruce wondered what he was thinking. He didn't look as if he was going to be mean; Bruce had a feeling that Mr. Coulson didn't need to be mean in order to make people do what he wanted.

"I understand, Clint," he said, his voice calm.

Loki ducked out of the bathroom with a smirk, apparently satisfied that Clint was going to be punished, and Bruce shrugged and said, "Come on, Clint. I'll stick with you."

Mr. Coulson stepped around Bruce and left the bathroom, and Clint sighed and left, too, with Bruce following behind. They realized quickly that Mr. Coulson wasn't taking them to the office. They ended up in his classroom, empty since it was his planning period. He gestured for the boys to sit down in a couple of desks near his, and he leaned on the edge of his desk, giving the boys a weighted look.

"I'm making a choice not to send you to the principal's office, Clint," he said, his voice gentle.

"Why not, sir?" Clint asked, a look of confusion on his face. Bruce wondered the same thing, and he was starting to worry because he'd just gone to the bathroom during class – his own teacher would be expecting him soon.

Mr. Coulson sighed. "Clint, you were half asleep in my class yesterday and you told me the boys at the orphanage mangled your textbook. Now you're fighting with one of the boys from the orphanage in the bathroom, but you say you don't need help." He suddenly turned his gaze to Bruce. "I asked you and your other friends if there was something going on that a grown up needed to know about yesterday, and now he's fighting, when he's never been caught fighting before."

Both boys sunk a little lower in their seats.

"I want to help you. I'm not going to go running to the principal with everything, not if getting you in trouble is going to cause more harm than good." He crossed his arms and added, "I think in this case it would cause more harm than good. You want to tell me what's going on at the orphanage, boys? It's starting to interfere here at school, and Clint, you know you already have to work harder in my class. I know you want to do well, so let me help you."

Bruce glanced over at Clint, who looked like he wanted to crawl out of his own skin. Bruce knew the feeling. He leaned over. "Clint, maybe –"

"Shut up, Bruce," Clint retorted angrily. He glared up at Mr. Coulson. "They're just bullies, sir. There's nothing you can help with."

Mr. Coulson was silent for a moment and then he nodded. "Okay. Fine. I'm not reporting this incident, though. You don't need detention on top of the nothing else that's _not_ going on," he said, sarcastically. He stood up from his desk and turned, grabbing a couple of hall passes from his desk. He scribbled on them and then handed them to each boy. Bruce took his gratefully.

"Thank you, Mr. Coulson," he said quietly. The teacher met his eye and held his gaze for a moment before nodding.

The boys stood quickly and left the classroom. Clint gave Bruce a simple, "I'll see you later," before he ducked down the hallway and went back to class. Bruce headed back to his class and Tony was waiting.

"What happened to you?" he whispered as Bruce took his seat after giving his teacher the pass.

"I'll tell you later," Bruce whispered back, and the rest of the class passed in silence.

After school, Bruce waited with Tony for his ride. He was nervous about going to Tony's house, but he was excited, too.

"So?" Tony bounced on the balls of his feet. "Spill. What happened during class today?"

Bruce sighed. "It isn't a big deal. I walked in on Clint fighting Loki in the bathroom and Mr. Coulson caught us. He sent Loki back to class and took me and Clint to his room to talk a little."

Tony stared. "No one got in trouble?"

"No, Clint was beating Loki up and I don't think Mr. Coulson wanted to stir up trouble for Clint. He seems really concerned about him."

Tony huffed and crossed his arms angrily. "I got sent to the principal's office for finishing my work too quick and you guys get out of going when you were in a fight?" he asked, incredulous.

"What?" Bruce asked, confused. He could totally see Tony getting sent to the office a lot – he'd seen the way he treated their science teacher – but for finishing work?

"Yeah," Tony said, as Happy pulled up with the car and the boys climbed in. "Weirdo Mrs. Greenberg said I was giving her attitude when all I was doing was asking if I could work on our project since I already finished her work for the day," he grumbled. "So Clint beat up Loki? That's wicked. Loki's a lot bigger than Clint."

Bruce nodded. "I know. But man, Clint was _pissed_. I never even got to ask what happened, really, before Coulson sent us back to class, but Loki was getting a black eye and Clint sucker punched him pretty good when I walked in. Not sure what happened, but whatever it was, he was mad."

"Kid seems mad a lot," Tony said, digging into his backpack to find the blueprints.

"Yeah," Bruce said quietly.

Bruce watched as the car pulled through massive wrought iron gates and came to a stop in a round driveway in front of Tony's…house. Bruce climbed out of the car and tried very hard not to let his jaw drop. He knew Tony was rich, and he remembered visiting some people when he was younger who had big houses, but this? This was definitely a mansion. It was grey stone, three stories high and Bruce quickly counted eight windows on the bottom floor alone. He was relieved to notice that there actually weren't any spires or anything gothic, but it was the prettiest building he'd ever seen, and Tony ran up the steps and swung open the big oak doors like it was nothing. A tall, black-haired man with twinkling green eyes greeted the boys politely, saying "Welcome home, Master Stark." He turned to Bruce and reached out to shake his hand. "You must be Master Banner," he said, and Bruce liked how gentle his voice was.

Bruce nodded and said, "Yes, sir. Hello."

Tony sighed a put-upon sigh and beckoned Bruce to the marble staircase to his left. "Bruce, this is Jarvis," he said quickly, and then, "Come on! We have work to do!"

As the boys scrambled up the stairs, Jarvis called out to Tony, "The usual, Master Stark?" and Tony just said 'yeah, thanks' and waved as they ascended the stairs.

Tony led Bruce down a long hallway at the top of the stairs, and Bruce saw an open door and peeked in to see a huge library, but Tony grabbed his arm and said, "Come on, the lab is down here."

"The lab?" Bruce asked, following Tony. He figured Tony was leading Bruce to his bedroom, but that wasn't the case. Tony opened a door and Bruce's jaw really did drop this time.

He was standing in what was probably a huge master bedroom at some point, but it had been converted to a science lab. It had two of the lab tables like their science classroom had, and it had a wall of shelves on one side of the room filled with lab equipment. Scales, microscopes, trays filled with empty test tubes and everything else Bruce might dream of for a lab. Including a fume hood. He stared at Tony and said, "I thought you said your parents got you a chemistry set."

Tony nodded as he threw his backpack down in one corner of the room and spread his notes and blue print out on one of the black topped lab tables. "Yeah, they did. I convinced them to order the same one they use at Stanford for their advanced chemistry class. It came a few days ago and it's awesome. But we don't need chemistry right now, come on."

Tony dug in a closet and pulled out a sheet of green material that was in a square sheet. He laid it on the other table and dug in the closet again and pulled out another one. He put them side by side and leaned onto his elbows and said, "I think two sheets will be enough. Here, let's measure."

The boys measured and consulted Tony's blue prints, and finally Bruce realized something and looked over at Tony. "Um, Tony? How are we gonna cut this stuff?"

Tony stepped back, looked around the room, and sighed. "Damn. It's always the minor details that get in the way." He sighed again. "Jarvis actually has a woodshop that he uses sometimes. I'll bet he'll cut them for us."

Bruce chuckled, because at that moment the butler walked in with a tray filled with snacks and juice for the boys. He agreed to take them down to his shop when they finished their snack, and an hour later the boys were lost in calculations and designs and Bruce felt more at ease than he had in weeks.

* * *

Clint sat through Mr. Coulson's history class without making eye contact, and then shuffled off to art class after that. He was tired, and his hand hurt from where he'd hit Loki a couple of times, and he really just wanted to go back to the orphanage and lay down for a while. But he'd ditched class the other day and thought he might really catch trouble if he made a habit of it. Besides, he usually loved art class.

Today they were working on portraits in chalk, and Clint settled in next to Natasha and started to draw. She leaned over after a few minutes, though, and said, "I heard you kicked Loki's ass."

He sighed and glanced over at her. Her eyes were gleaming and she wore her very common curious look. He turned back to his drawing and kept working, but he said, "Well, that's exaggerating. I got a few good hits in, is all."

She nodded. "What did he do?"

Clint snorted. "He cornered me in the bathroom and thought he'd push me around. I'm tired of being pushed around, " he ended with a mumble.

She leaned into his shoulder. "He's a jerk. You did good if you got some hits in."

Clint smiled up at her. "Thanks," he said, and they went back to work. He liked her. She wasn't going to press him into talking if he didn't want to, and her opinion on him doing well mattered in a way opinions hadn't mattered in awhile. He thought for a moment. He'd valued Mr. Coulson's opinion since he got assigned to his class – the guy just made him want to work harder. Now he had come to value Natasha and Bruce's opinions, too. He liked that.

He used to value Barney's opinion, too, and as he sat there watching his brother's face appear on his white paper in front of him, he figured he still did. He just needed to get Barney alone for a while. Then they could be friends again.

He thought about his parents for a moment as he drew Barney's eyes, which were also the eyes of Clint's father. He wondered how things would be different if they hadn't wrecked that car last year. The boy s would still be in Waverly, so he wouldn't know any of his new friends. His dad would still be hitting them every few days and that always sucked. He didn't miss his dad at all.

He missed his mom, but only the times when his dad wasn't around and the light came back into her eyes. She would laugh and joke with him and Barney when she wasn't worried about their father coming home. Clint shook his head and finished his drawing. People here now were what mattered.

Natasha leaned over after a few minutes and said, "Wow. That's really good. You're going to be as good as Steve soon."

He shrugged. "I keep drawing the same people."

She smiled at him. "So draw me. I bet you can't draw me."

He grinned. "I can draw you. You're easy."

Her face darkened a little, but then lit up again. "Okay, prove it. Draw one of me before we leave."

Clint cocked his head and looked at her for a minute, taking in her red hair, cropped at her neck, her sparkling green eyes, filled with caution and confidence. That's what he needed to get across. He leaned over his paper and started with a few lines. He glanced up at her every few minutes, watching as her smirk grew wider the longer he worked, and finally he finished. He held it up and she laughed.

"I told you I could do it," he said, laughing too.

Just then the teacher came over, Mr. Teems. He was a friendly man, skinny and tall with a full beard and dancing eyes. He chuckled as Clint held up his picture, and he said, "You got her, Clint. You sure got her. I can tell you guys know each other pretty well the way you caught her there. Nice work!"

Later that night, Clint pulled the portrait out of his backpack and looked at it again. He carefully put a date on it and slid it back into his sketchbook to keep it from wrinkling. Could he give this up to run off with Barney? This new friendship, an adult who he thought maybe he could trust if he tried, Bruce and the others who seemed to like him for some weird reason. Could he give that up for his brother?

He thought back to Barney protecting Clint from their father, crossing his arms defiantly and jutting his chin, ready for a hit. He thought of Barney laughing with his mother, the three of them making cookies together on the good days and wrestling with Barney on their front lawn.

He sighed. He had to try. He couldn't leave his brother to the police, and Barney wasn't going to leave him alone here at the orphanage. He'd probably end up in trouble with the cops even without Clint setting him up. Clint stood from his cot and wandered down to the den, but Barney wasn't there. He headed outside and looked around but didn't have any luck. Finally, he wandered down to the park and saw Barney and a couple of the older boys sitting around a bench.

Clint figured he was asking for a beating, but he took a deep breath and headed toward them.

Barney had a red sweatshirt on and his black hair was tousled from play. His eyes were hard as Clint approached, narrowing as he stood up to meet his little brother with a leer. "Didja finally grow some sense, Clint?" he asked darkly, and Clint stopped a few feet from the bench.

Clint shook his head and shrugged. "I dunno. Listen, can I talk to you alone, Barney?" he asked, trying hard to meet his brother's gaze.

Barney stared at him for a minute and then nodded and stood up from the bench. "Sure, let's take a walk."

The brothers headed toward the swing set nearby and Clint pulled the ad for the circus out of his pocket. He took a deep breath and shoved it toward Barney. "I hate it here, Barney. I hate it. I was thinking – maybe, maybe we could give something else a shot."

Barney took the paper and looked at it, his eyes widening a little bit. After a minute he looked up and glared at Clint. "What do you mean?"

"Barney," Clint pleaded. "We could run off, okay? We could go there and see if we can get hired on. I bet they'd take us. We'd be good workers, and we wouldn't have to go to school or deal with these orphanage assholes anymore. It'd be cool, right?"

Barney looked back down at the paper. Finally, he shook his head incredulously. "You're a tough little shit sometimes, Clint. But mostly?" he shoved the paper back to Clint's hands. "You're stupid. You're an idiot if you think this would work. They'd never take us." He paused and snorted. "Well, maybe they'd take me, but you? There's nothing you could do at a circus. You're too little."

"Not for long, Barney!" Clint protested, taking the paper and shoving it in his pocket again. "Come on! I'm gonna grow soon, and we can do this. I hate it here, Barney! I hate it!" Clint felt desperation rage through his chest, and while he hated how it made him sound, he couldn't help it.

Barney crossed his arms and looked down at Clint. "Run off and join the circus? Damn, Clint. You sure came up with crazy this time. Look, lemme think about it. Okay? I hate school, that's for sure, and it might be fun. But I still doubt they'd take us. Lemme think about it first."

Hope and despair competed for Clint's attention, and he nodded quickly. "Okay. I just thought – I just thought I'd see what you thought."

Barney started to walk back to his friends and then turned back to Clint. "I'll think about this if you'll reconsider the record store deal."

Clint nodded. He could make him think he was considering it. That was easy. "Okay, Barney. I'll reconsider. If you'll think about this."

Barney nodded and turned back to his friends, mumbling, "The circus. Jesus."

Clint sat down on one of the swings and dragged his shoes across the dirt. The temperature was dropping for the night and he should head back to the orphanage. But he didn't. Instead he sat on the swing until the night sky set in, and he watched the stars emerge, wondering if wishing would do him any good.

He sighed and figured it sure as hell couldn't hurt anything.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: So thanks to everyone for their patience with this story. I am grateful to anyone who has stuck around. This is the last chapter, and an epilogue will be posted in the next day or so. Thanks to dysprositos, who has had to go above and beyond beta duty for this story. I hope you like the climax!**

"Barney," Clint said firmly. The older boy was sitting on a park bench at the playground, whittling a stick with a brand new pocketknife. Clint idly wondered where he'd gotten it. Barney didn't look up.

"Hey," Clint said, sitting down next to his brother.

"What, Clint," Barney said, still not looking at Clint.

"I'll do your record store thing for you," Clint said with finality.

Barney looked up at that and stopped whittling. "Yeah?"

Clint saw a hint of pride in Barney's eye as he said it, and Clint's chest tightened. He might have done anything to get that look a month ago. Now it just made him ache. He was going to ruin Barney's life. He gave Barney an empty smile. "Yeah. I'll do it. Tell me when and I'll be there."

Barney put his knife away carefully. "I think the circus is a good idea, too. I was thinking, after we hit the record store we could just take off."

Clint swallowed. "Okay. If you think we should."

Barney nodded and stood. "I do." He looked around, as if to check and see if any of his friends were close, and then he added, "It's smart, Clint. It'll just be us again, and that'll be good."

Clint felt tears spring to his eyes, so he looked away quickly and took a breath. "Okay," he said, afraid to say anything more.

They were silent for a moment and then Barney said, "Tomorrow, Clint. Tomorrow at eight we'll do this and then we'll cut right out for the circus and find out if we can join up. All you have to do is get us into that store. Then you can just watch and – and I'll give you a cut when we take off. That should tide us over until we can get settled with the circus. If they'll take us."

Clint shrugged and turned away; he needed this conversation to be over. "Okay. Eight. I'll be outside in the alley, and then I'll get up to that room for you."

He left his brother standing in the park and he found himself walking quickly, trying not to cry, and not paying attention to where he was going. He took the long way around, but he finally found himself standing outside the school, and he sank down onto the bench outside the door and put his head in his hands.

"Clint?"

Clint looked up and saw Mr. Coulson standing there in his suit and carrying a satchel. He quickly wiped his face and answered, "Yes sir?"

Mr. Coulson pursed his lips and gave Clint a once-over before sitting down next to him on the bench. "You want to talk about what's going on?"

Clint dropped his head and pulled at his hair. This was too much. He couldn't do this. He couldn't keep the tears from streaming down his face, and he whispered, "No, sir."

He heard Mr. Coulson sigh, and they sat in silence for a moment. Clint took a deep breath and wiped his face again. He knew the teacher was trying to be nice to him, but he didn't need that. He needed a solution and that wasn't going to come from an adult. Adults didn't solve problems.

"Clint, you don't have to tell me everything. I'm just worried. You're a good kid and I don't want to see you get hurt," Mr. Coulson said gently, and damn. Clint wasn't used to grownups talking to him like that.

Maybe he could just get a little advice.

So he took a deep breath and said, "Someone I know is going to do something stupid and wrong later this week, and I know what he's going to do and I can't stop him, but I could make it so he gets caught doing it." Clint paused and looked up at Mr. Coulson. "I don't know if the right thing to do is to make sure he gets caught or help him get away."

Mr. Coulson was quiet for a minute, and Clint was sure that was a dumb move, telling him anything. But then his teacher shook his head and said, "Wow. That's a hard one. You say you can't stop him?"

Clint nodded and whispered, "If I do stop him, he'll hurt me some more."

Coulson sat forward. "So you know what he's going to do and you can make sure he gets caught."

"Yeah, but – I don't know. I don't know if I want him to get caught," Clint said, and he thought he sounded desperate.

"Okay. Okay, Clint. Listen, sometimes it takes getting caught to steer someone on the right path, you know?"

"You mean it'll help him to get caught?" Clint asked. This wasn't something he'd thought of.

"Yes. Sometimes. If getting caught will force attention on him, maybe it will be the kind of attention he needs. And if he's hurting you, Clint, then that needs to stop no matter what," Mr. Coulson answered, and his voice got very firm. "If you can keep someone from hurting you, you should _always_ do that."

Clint stood and crossed his arms against his chest and ducked his chin. "Thank you, sir. I'll think about it."

Mr. Coulson stood as well, and he put his hand on Clint's shoulder gently. "Be careful, Clint. Okay?"

Clint met his teacher's eye and nodded. "Yes, sir. I will."

Clint headed back to the orphanage feeling a little bit better about things, and when he got there, Bruce was waiting for him on the steps, and he grinned broadly when he saw Clint.

"Hey!" Bruce said, standing up to meet Clint. "I was waiting for you. We looked for you earlier but when we couldn't find you, we went on down to the park. Tony had the plank and we tested it. It held Steve and Thor at the same time, so it's gonna be fine holding you and Steve."

"What?" Clint asked, confused. "I thought Thor was coming along too."

Bruce shook his head. "No, listen. Three's too many. Steve agreed and said that the two of you would be fine. He'll look out for you. Thor is going to wait with us." He paused and grinned. "Thor's a little . . . unsubtle. We're all afraid he'll unintentionally mess things up. Really, Steve will be good. He won't let anything happen."

Clint pursed his lips and thought for a minute. Him and Steve. He'd let Steve into the store, and Steve would make sure the other boys didn't beat Clint up or leave him there. And he'd help Clint block the door so they couldn't get out without running straight to the police. "Okay," he agreed, and shrugged.

"When are you guys doing it?" Bruce asked eagerly. Clint thought he seemed a little too eager.

"Tomorrow night. Why?"

Bruce grinned sheepishly. "It's just that, well, I helped Tony make this plank thing, and I'm kinda excited to see it in action."

Clint rolled his eyes. "You're such a geek." Bruce laughed and they headed inside for dinner.

"Your brother's going to go to jail, you know that, right?" Natasha asked bluntly as she set her tray down on the table.

The other boys just stared at her and Clint shrugged. "Yeah. He deserves it." He paused, thinking about what Mr. Coulson had said. "Maybe it will be good for him." She didn't answer, so he added, "Besides, you're on 'call the cops duty' anyway. So I can always blame you." He watched a small grin play across her face despite Clint's lie. What happened tomorrow would be his fault, and his alone. He was just trying to ignore that.

"We should go over the plan again if you're doing it tomorrow night," she answered simply. "Bruce, you should call Tony so he knows it's soon."

And that was that. Things were in motion, and Clint figured it was too late to change their direction.

* * *

Steve stood in the alley, hiding behind a Dumpster. He took a deep breath and looked at his watch. Clint said that his brother wanted to hit the store at eight, two hours after it closed and before it got too dark. He'd gotten word that the owners were closing the shop early so they could go to some concert, so Barney had figured it was a good guarantee that no one would be around. So Steve waited. A few minutes after eight, a tennis ball was thrown at Steve from the roof of the next building over, which was Tony's signal that the others saw Clint coming.

Bruce, Tony, Natasha, and Thor were stationed on a nearby building. It was easy enough to get to the roof, but too far away from the record store building to make any sort of jump possible. They'd be waiting for Clint and Steve when it was all finished. For now, the signal prompted Steve to tuck himself further in behind the garbage can, and watch for Clint.

Clint was wearing black jeans and a black t-shirt – he said it was spy gear – and a green baseball hat tucked over his eyes (in case there were cameras) and he came around the corner to the alley warily. His older brother followed, and Steve could see Loki hanging around on the sidewalk with a couple other boys. Four boys plus Barney. Steve could handle that. Tonight was a night he was grateful for being big for his age.

He watched Clint come into the alley and look up at the window he was supposed to go in. Steve shook his head again; he still didn't believe Clint could do it, but Clint gave his shoulders a shake, rubbed his hands on his jeans, and began to climb. Where he was putting his fingers, Steve couldn't figure out, much less how those fingers were strong enough to hold Clint up. But he did it, and Steve grinned as he watched Clint's small body shimmy in through the window three floors up from the ground.

Barney laughed and Steve saw him duck back around to the front of the store, waiting for his little brother to let him in the front door. Steve counted to twenty and the alley access door opened an inch. Clint's small voice whispered, "Steve?"

Steve slinked over to the entrance and slid inside. They were standing in a small warehouse style room with shelves upon shelves of records. Clint led Steve out of that room to a small hallway, the one direction leading to the store itself and the other leading to the stairwell that opened on the roof.

Steve adjusted his backpack that held the plank and gave Clint a reassuring grin. "Go ahead. Natasha should be calling the cops about now. Remember, as soon as they've got money in their hands, you run. I'll be ready to jump in if they try and stop you." Clint nodded and headed into the front store. Steve watched him unlock the front door and let the other boys in, and had to steel himself as he watched Loki give Clint a shove as he came in, knocking Clint to the ground. He couldn't go in until they had the money out of the safe, though.

They had all figured they'd have about two minutes after Natasha called the cops, so Steve had a silent count running in his head. When he got to fifty, one of Barney's friends was in front of the safe with a wide grin on his face. "Told you I could do it!" he shouted with glee, and the safe door opened. Steve watched Clint inch back toward him, but the trouble came when Loki noticed.

"Where are you going, you little shit?" Loki asked, grabbing Clint's wrist.

Clint yelped in pain and Barney whirled around to see what was going on. Steve saw Loki twist Clint's arm hard, and he stepped into the room as Clint cried out again and went to his knees in pain. Steve knew he was faster and stronger than anyone else in the room, so he just rushed in, shoving Loki to the floor and grabbing Clint's other hand and pulling him up. "Go, Clint!" he yelled, and threw a punch at Loki, connecting with his cheekbone.

It was like the room stood still for a moment, and then Clint scrambled up as Barney reached for him. He ducked under Barney's arm as one of the other boys tried to tackle Steve. Steve tripped him, though, and ran toward the back of the store toward the stairs. He didn't expect Loki to be able to catch him, but he was fast, and he tripped Steve, shoving him to the ground.

Barney jumped Steve when he was down, and clocked Steve across the jaw. It stung, but Steve used Barney's imbalance to wrap his arm around Barney's shoulders and pull him down to the floor. A nearby stand full of records was handy to shove down on Clint's brother and Steve was up again.

Just in time to see Loki grab Clint—who was already halfway up the staircase—by the ankle. Clint tried to catch himself on the steps, but the wrist Loki had twisted gave out on him and he tumbled awkwardly, hitting his chin hard on the steps and rolling down the rest of them, landing awkwardly on his bad wrist. Loki tore up the staircase ahead of Steve and Clint.

Steve rushed to Clint, who was pushing himself off the floor with a groan. There was blood streaming from his chin, and he was holding his arm at an odd angle. "Clint!" Steve said, grabbing him under the shoulders and helping him up. "Are you okay?" Steve asked, and Clint nodded, looking back at Barney, who was still tangled under a metal rack, and then looking at the front door, where Steve could see police officers heading for the store.

"Come on!" Steve huffed, and he practically dragged Clint up the stairs and onto the roof. Once they closed the door behind them he looked around, but there was no sign of Loki. He threw the backpack down and opened it hastily as Bruce called, "Hurry up, you guys! Come on!"

Steve stepped to the edge of the roof and laid the edge of the plank, which Tony had painted red, down and pressed the button on the side. He put his foot on the part on the roof like Tony had shown him, and held it down as the plank quickly extended over to the other roof, where Tony grabbed it with a grin and anchored it to their side. "Come on!" Tony shouted.

Steve looked at Clint, who was staring at the plank warily, and said, "Want me to go first?" Clint nodded and Steve hopped up. It was about fifteen feet across, and he did it quickly, not looking down. As soon as he set foot on the other building, Natasha called to Clint.

Clint looked back at the door to the stairwell for a moment, took a deep breath, and stepped onto the plank. He ran across it without hesitation and as soon as he jumped onto the other roof, Thor leaned over and lifted the plank, freeing the edges from the buildings and pressing a button, causing the plank to retract just as planned. At that moment, on the other rooftop, Barney Barton burst through the door.

Steve saw Clint flinch forward, and Bruce put a hand on his shoulder to keep him steady.

"Clint!" Barney hollered. "Clint what the fuck!" he yelled as he skidded to the edge of the roof. "Come on, Clint, help me out!" he called looking back at the doorway frantically, and they all heard the cops pounding up to the roof.

"Clint," Steve said gently, "We need to get out of here. Come on." Clint stared at his brother again before he nodded and turned his back on Barney.

They all quickly headed for the next roof, which was an easy jump, and then to a fire escape, and they climbed down carefully, and Steve noticed Clint doing it one-handed. They all hopped to the ground and ran to the park, where they finally halted, breathing heavily.

"Oh man!" Tony said gleefully. "It worked! It worked!" and Bruce laughed along with him until everyone noticed Clint, who had found a park bench, sat down, and curled himself into a ball. Steve watched as Natasha walked over to him slowly.

"Clint?" she said gently. "What's wrong?"

"Besides I just sent my brother to jail?" the muffled reply came. "I think I broke my arm." After a pause, he added, "And maybe my chin."

Steve stepped close and said, "Let me have a look, Clint," and he reached out to Clint's shoulder. Clint unfurled a little and Steve saw that his chin was still bleeding. He was shaking a little, too, taking short breaths and holding his wrist. "Let's go back to the orphanage," he said to the others.

"We can't," Natasha replied. "If the police have the other boys you can bet they'll send someone over to the orphanage right away. Clint could still get in trouble if they figure out he was there."

"If he stays with us we can say he messed himself up on the playground," Tony added.

Steve frowned. "He needs a doctor, though."

Bruce stepped forward. "I know who we can call," he said quietly, and pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. "Mr. Coulson gave me his number."

Steve saw Clint nod and Bruce took off for the payphone at the edge of the playground.

As they waited, Steve remembered something. "What happened to Loki?" he asked.

Thor looked puzzled. "What do you mean? We assumed he'd been caught with the others."

Clint and Steve shared a look just as a mirthless laugh came from the path behind them. They turned, and Loki was strolling up the sidewalk with a smirk. Thor stepped forward defensively.

"Loki, how did you escape?" he asked, and Loki stepped right up close to his brother.

"I don't think you amateurs knew that building as well as you thought you did," he said and laughed again. He gave Thor a playful shove and walked away. "Good to know you were ready to throw me to the wolves, brother."

"We could turn you in, Loki," Natasha said, her voice hard.

He glared at her. "And how would you know I was there? You'd have to turn your boyfriend in as well, and I don't think you want to do that." He continued walking away.

"Let him go, Thor," Steve said. "He'll get over it. Besides, he doesn't have a gang now. We can handle him."

Bruce came back to the group. "Mr. Coulson's on his way."

"What did you tell him?" Clint ground out between clenched teeth. His arm was clearly hurting worse.

"I told him you needed a doctor but we couldn't go to the orphanage."

"Couldn't have lied just a little bit, there Bruce?" Tony said sarcastically. "Were you a boy scout before?"

Bruce shook his head. "No, I just don't think Mr. Coulson is someone I want to lie to any more. He'll understand."

Clint nodded, and Steve sat down next to him to wait.

* * *

Bruce shifted from foot to foot while they waited for Mr. Coulson to come help Clint. Tony had the plank out on the grass in front of him and he had a screwdriver he'd pulled out of his own backpack. "Bruce, look at this – " and he pointed with the screwdriver at a point on the plank. Bruce knelt down next to him with a sigh.

"Look here," Tony said, and Bruce looked down and swore. "It's okay, though!" Tony said, "They both made it across. No harm no foul."

Bruce glared at Tony and the younger boy deflated a little.

"Okay, it was close. But it held. We can recalculate and replace that bit if we have to use this again," Tony said.

"Tony," Bruce retorted, "In what universe are we going to do this again?"

Tony looked up at that and sat back on his heels, looking dejected. "Well, not for something like this, of course, Bruce. But when we get older, when we're actually designing things for grownups to use, maybe we can find a use for it."

Tony was optimistic, Bruce would give him that much. He looked up at Clint, who was curled onto the bench looking pale and miserable. It had worked this time, but Bruce wasn't exactly sure who had won in this situation.

Thor had convinced Clint to let him put his folded up t-shirt on Clint's chin to try to stop the bleeding, but Clint had finally pulled the t-shirt from Thor's grip and held it himself. His chin was still bleeding. Bruce stood up and wandered over to the bench, sitting down next to Clint. Steve sat on the other side of Clint, a worried look on his face.

"Clint?" Bruce asked gently. "Mr. Coulson should be here soon. He said he'd come right away."

"Okay," Clint mumbled, the t-shirt still pressed to his chin. "I'm okay."

Just then, a blue sedan pulled up to the curb nearby and Mr. Coulson stepped out of the car, wearing jeans and a blue sweatshirt. It startled Bruce to see him out of his suit, but the concerned look on his face was familiar and settled Bruce's heart rate a little. He walked up to the boys and knelt down in front of Clint.

"Clint? What happened?" he asked gently.

Clint looked up at him and took a shaky breath. "I think I broke my arm. It hurts like hell, sir."

Mr. Coulson smiled a little. "Can I see it? Looks like you got your chin pretty good, too."

Bruce leaned forward. "That's been bleeding since it happened. Probably fifteen or twenty minutes ago. We can't get it to stop."

Mr. Coulson looked at Bruce and the others and sat back on his heels. "Okay. I can take Clint to the emergency room, no problem. You can't all come along, though, and someone needs to let Mrs. Hansen know what's going on. I'm sure they have procedures to follow if one of you kids gets hurt." He sounded more sincere than ever, and Bruce was still amazed at how much he wanted to trust him.

"Can Bruce come?" Clint asked timidly, meeting Mr. Coulson's eye. Bruce looked over at the teacher hopefully. He really wanted to come along and help if he could. He knew what it was like to be hurt and scared.

"Sure. I just can't take everyone along. Besides, emergency room visits can take awhile," Mr. Coulson answered and stood up, reaching out for Clint. "Come on. Let's get that looked at." Clint let himself be helped up, and when he wavered a little on his feet, Bruce grabbed his arm and let him lean on him.

They slid into Mr. Coulson's back seat and buckled their seatbelts, waving at the other kids.

Once they got checked into the emergency room and were sitting and waiting to be seen by a doctor, Bruce looked over at Clint, who was leaning his head back and had his eyes shut. Bruce could tell that he wasn't resting, though; it was more like he was clenching his eyes. Bruce looked over at Mr. Coulson, who was sitting across from them and watching Clint carefully.

"Clint, I know it hurts," Mr. Coulson said, and Bruce figured he was talking about Clint's arm. "But you're going to have to tell the doctor what happened."

Clint opened his eyes and stared at Mr. Coulson warily. "I know."

"So what happened, Clint?"

Bruce leaned forward and started to speak, but Clint cut him off. "I was an idiot and tried to jump off a swing at the top of the arc. Landed wrong," Clint said, his voice gravelly and tight with pain.

Mr. Coulson looked over at Bruce and said lightly, "I don't think that's what happened."

Bruce looked at Clint, who had met Mr. Coulson's gaze with a glare.

"Clint, you talked to me just the other day about someone who was going to make you do something you didn't want to do. You talked about getting hurt if you didn't do it. You've been having trouble at school, and now this? This is more than a swing set injury."

Clint grasped his injured arm a little tighter and ducked his head, taking a breath. He looked over at Bruce, who nodded. They needed to trust a grownup for once here. "Trust him, Clint. You know he won't hurt you."

Mr. Coulson gave Bruce a grateful look and turned to Clint, who looked up after a moment.

"Okay," Clint said. "I was helping my brother knock over that record store down the block. We all," he said, gesturing to Bruce, "figured a way to make sure Barney and his buddies got caught. I kind of fell down some stairs during my getaway, though."

Bruce watched Mr. Coulson process this information and added, "Mr. Coulson, we don't want Clint to get in trouble. We're the ones who called the police so the other boys would get caught. We just didn't want Clint to get –" Bruce realized he sounded a little frantic and stopped for a breath. "We were just trying to make sure they couldn't hurt Clint anymore," he finished quietly.

Their teacher sat and thought for a minute, watching them carefully. Finally he sighed. "Okay. Look," he said, leaning forward, "I understand what you were trying to do. I've seen how it's been affecting you, getting bullied by these kids, and I don't want it to happen anymore. But you do understand, Clint, that you let those boys into the store? That you're a part of that attempted robbery?"

Bruce and Clint both sat up a little straighter, and Clint somehow managed to go even paler.

Mr. Coulson must've realized he'd scared them. "I can help you. And I will, Clint. But it's going to include going to the police and explaining what happened."

Bruce looked at Clint, and just then a nurse came out and called Clint's name. They all went back together, and two hours later Clint had a cast on his arm, stitches in his chin, and was leaning on Bruce as they walked back out to Mr. Coulson's car. He actually fell asleep on the short ride to the orphanage, his head leaning on Bruce's shoulder.

As they were driving, Bruce asked quietly, "Do you think he'll go to jail if he tells them what we did?"

Mr. Coulson looked at Bruce in the rearview mirror. He shook his head. "I actually know a really good lawyer and I think he'd help Clint for free. He would do a good job of convincing a judge that you kids helped more than you hurt. He'd probably get them to cut Clint some slack. He might get a notation on his record, but nothing too serious."

Bruce thought about that for a moment. "Do you think Clint's brother will go to jail?"

Mr. Coulson sighed. "I don't know. If they find out it was all an elaborate prank –"

Bruce cut him off. "It wasn't a 'prank', sir. They were beating Clint up whenever they could, just because he wouldn't help them."

Mr. Coulson nodded. "Prank wasn't the best word. I'm sorry. And that will all get brought out in court. But if they decide that Barney was set up, they may just give him a notation, too. I don't know."

Bruce sighed. "We just wanted them to stop beating him up."

"And you're good friends, Bruce. You all just went about it in an inconvenient way." He paused and said, "How did Clint get away from that building?"

Bruce regaled him with the story of Tony's plank, and Mr. Coulson laughed at their ingenuity.

When they got back to the orphanage, the director was waiting for them in concern. Steve had gone to her and explained that Clint was at the hospital. Mr. Coulson gave her the paperwork she needed and let Steve usher Clint up to bed with the promise that he'd get a substitute tomorrow and take Clint over to the police station.

After Mr. Coulson left, Mrs. Hansen asked Bruce and Steve a few questions, and then shooed them off to bed as well. Bruce fell asleep thinking about Tony's ingenuity, Mr. Coulson's kindness, and Clint's clear toughness, and figured he'd at least gotten lucky enough to be surrounded by some good people here. Hopefully Clint wouldn't get screwed over, and hopefully things would settle down a little now.

Bruce pulled the picture of his mother out of the book under his mattress and looked at it for a while, tears coming more easily to his tired body. She would be proud of Bruce for helping his friends, and he wished she could meet them and assure him he was being a good kid.


	10. Epilogue

_**A/N: Well, here you are. Thanks again for following along for this, my most difficult story to write yet. Thanks to the OP who threw this idea out there; I think it was a great idea and I hope I've done it some service. Thanks again to dysprositos, who had to give above and beyond the usual beta duties here and become a motivator as well. The reviews and support from everyone kept me in this, and while I'm glad it's finished, I'm also quite pleased with how it turned out and I hope you are, too.**_

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_**EPILOGUE**_

Six years gave Clint a lot of perspective on what happened that Thursday night at the record store. He still remembered the look of betrayal in Barney's eyes as they stood on separate rooftops and the police clambered up the stairs to take Barney into custody. He still remembered Barney's glare in court as the judge sentenced him to a year in a juvenile detention center. Clint had gotten out of it, thanks to Coulson's lawyer, and a year later, when Barney was released from jail, Clint wasn't all that surprised when Barney disappeared. Clint was turning eighteen next week and hadn't heard from his brother since then.

He'd gotten in a few fights with Thor's brother Loki over the years, but never anything serious. Loki started to take school seriously as a way out of the life he was stuck in and didn't bother the boys all that much anymore.

Clint sat at on the steps of the orphanage waiting for Bruce. It was a beautiful sunny day with that crisp fall air that made even the city feel refreshing, and he and Bruce were going hiking. Tony might come along, but only if he could make it in time from MIT. Clint wasn't sure when his flight was getting in. Steve and Thor were coming over the next day for graduation, which was easy since they shared an apartment only a few blocks away from the orphanage. Steve was going to art school and Thor had a full time job with a shipping company.

Bruce had skipped a couple of grades over the years and was graduating with Clint tomorrow. Natasha had one year left, but she was thinking about getting her GED over the summer so she could skip senior year. She hated high school.

Clint couldn't blame her. They had discussed maybe joining the army together in the fall, although Coulson was trying his hardest to convince both of them to go to the local college and join their ROTC program instead. He said they were too smart to pass the opportunity up. Clint wasn't sure about college, though. He'd applied and been accepted, but he was still trying to work out the money problem.

He heard the door open behind him and Bruce sat down next to him with a sigh.

"Hey Stanford dude," Clint said with a grin and threw his arm around Bruce's shoulder.

Bruce slapped it away playfully and said, "Shut up, idiot."

"What? It sounds good. 'Stanford. Dude.' Don't you think?"

"No. It sounds stupid. Are we going hiking or what?" Bruce asked.

Clint stood and slung his backpack over his shoulders. "Yeah. The last bus comes back by six, so we can still make Coulson's dinner and have a couple hours in the woods." They had gotten the city bus schedule down like clockwork over the years, and they had a route that took them right to the edge of a park and back pretty easily. They'd all made a habit of going out at least once a month together, and Clint and Bruce tried to go whenever they had the chance. Both boys had weekend jobs, so it was hard sometimes, but they spent a lot of time out there regardless.

They both had fewer nightmares the more time they spent in the woods. Bruce still talked about his parents' deaths sometimes, and Clint knew the night of their death still plagued Bruce's dreams. His temper flared uncontrollably sometimes, like it did that night soon after they'd first met, but the more times Clint could drag his friend into the forest, the calmer he was day to day.

Clint also had nightmares. They covered the time with his father and the night of the record store, but the longer they spent in the woods in a month, the fewer sleepless nights he had. It had become routine for both of them.

It was a beautiful day to be hiking, and they took advantage of it, barely catching the bus they needed back. They made it, though, and had time to clean up and put on khakis and sharp button downs before meeting Coulson in front of the orphanage. Their former teacher drove up in his same old beat up sedan that Clint kept fixing for him over the years. As soon as Clint had been old enough to take auto mechanics at school, he had been tinkering with the car, and between him and Tony, they kept the thing in top form for Coulson, who never failed to thank them for it.

Coulson took them to dinner at a nice Italian restaurant a few miles away, and they filled the meal with easy conversation and jokes. Clint loved joking around with him, but Bruce always dragged him into political conversations or conversations about big ideas, and they had a tendency to talk for hours. Tonight, though, Coulson stopped them after they'd ordered their desserts.

"I have something for both of you. I wanted to give it to you tonight instead of tomorrow so we could have some privacy," Coulson said, smiling mysteriously. Clint knew he had given Steve and Thor a gift when they graduated, and he sent Tony care packages every month, so he wasn't surprised that there was a gift for him, but when he opened the envelope Coulson gave him, his jaw dropped and he had trouble catching his breath.

He stared up at his former teacher and saw Bruce having a similar reaction. "Coulson," he said weakly. "This. This is crazy." He took a breath. "I mean, thanks, really. Thank you. But this is crazy."

Bruce just sat there wordless, and Clint could only assume he had a check in his hands as well.

Coulson loosened his tie a little and took a sip of coffee. "Boys," he said, with his full-on mentor-grownup-parent voice that he pulled out whenever they needed it. "I don't have any family. I was in the military before I was a teacher, and I have this money. You both deserve to succeed, and you don't deserve to have money stand in your way. Bruce," he said, smiling over at Clint's best friend. "You have scholarships, but you're going to need this for room and board. Even if you don't need it right away, you're going to need it eventually. It will help."

He looked at Clint. "_You_ should go to college, Clint. You're smart and you deserve it. This should get you started, and after you have a couple successful terms I'll help you get the scholarships you deserve. I still think you should go for an archery scholarship if you can. You had a couple early setbacks in school, but they shouldn't ruin your chances."

Clint looked down at the fifteen thousand dollar check and felt tears spring to his eyes. He suddenly realized how Steve and Thor afforded their apartment on top of Steve's schooling. They all sat in silence for a few moments.

"Thank you," Bruce said quietly.

Clint nodded as Coulson said, "You're welcome," and then Clint looked away for a minute.

"Clint?" Coulson asked, his voice tentative.

Clint looked over at him with a sheepish grin. His voice caught a little as he said, "I always wished you'd adopt me, when I was a little kid. When you helped me that night at the hospital, I started to wish you'd adopt me." He had, too.

He spent some nights, when he missed Barney so much his chest hurt and he felt so guilty about turning him in that he just wanted to beat his head against a wall, wishing that the kind teacher would just take him home and get him away from the orphanage and its constant reminders of what he'd done. Then when Coulson had introduced him to archery when he was fourteen, he would go to the nearby archery club where he worked to pay for a membership and shoot and shoot, trying to get the burning of his wish to fade a little.

It did fade as he realized over time that even if Coulson hadn't officially adopted him, he was still the closest thing Clint had to a father. He'd dropped the 'Mr.' in his head by the time he was fifteen because that was too much distance, kept him too far away from the man he'd grown to admire and respect and, if he were being clear, love like a father.

He knew his friends felt the same way.

Coulson sighed. "I know. But I couldn't adopt all of you, and you all deserved help. I figured I could do more good just being there for you throughout. I'm sorry."

Clint laughed weakly and shook his head. "No, it's okay. I just—I mean, this," he said, holding up the check, "This is more than some parents do for their kids. You're amazing."

Coulson smiled and shrugged as Bruce added, "You're our family."

Coulson looked startled at that, and then he nodded. "Yes, I am. And I'll do whatever I can to make sure you get what you deserve. All of you."

They finished their meal and Coulson took them back to the orphanage. Clint had another week to live there before he moved in with Steve and Thor until he knew what he was going to do next fall. Before he climbed out of Coulson's car, he leaned over and enveloped the man in a bear hug. "Thank you," he whispered. Coulson nodded and returned the hug, and then Clint climbed out and he and Bruce went inside to get some rest before their graduation ceremony the next day.

Clint lay in his bed that night thinking that, despite his regrets about losing Barney, he had found a family here, and that family was going to help him get a life that he wanted no matter what. "I'll be goddamned," he whispered in the dark, basking in his realization, and Bruce, who had been bunking in the same room for the last few years, whispered back, "Stop cussing, Clint."

They both fell asleep with smiles on their faces.


End file.
